


The Strange Change of Veruca Salt

by cinnamonprincesss



Category: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)
Genre: Gen, a Coming of Age story, i wrote this story many moons ago, like really transformative, transformative work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 41,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5818309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonprincesss/pseuds/cinnamonprincesss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her trip to the factory, Veruca's parents decide she must be less of a spoilt brat. Sort of a sequel, 2005 movie-verse. </p><p>((or: I wrote this story between 2008 and 2011 on ff.net and decided to upload it here yay me. It hasn't been edited from there (maybe a typo or two) so not my best writing but anyway. here we are. after many moons))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Factory

In a fit of temper, Veruca threw her hairbrush at the mirror. It broke with a very satisfying CRACK. The hotel staff would be angry with her for breaking the furniture, but she didn't care at all.

Today had been the worst day of her life. She had gone to Wonka's chocolate factory expecting victory, a prize of some kind. Instead, she had been attacked by crazy squirrels, and thrown into a rubbish dump! When she had finally been let out, furious and covered in garbage, she had been informed that that stupid boy Charlie Bucket had won the prize, and she had to go home.

Her body hurt. It was covered in scratches from the stupid, beastly little squirrels, and bruises from the garbage chute. Still, at least she wasn't ridiculously tall, like Mike Teavee, or blue,like Violet Bearegarde. Veruca frowned, remembering Violet's last words to her.

"Hey," Violet had said, in between doing back flips. "Listen, we got off an a bad foot. Let's start over."

Veruca had stuck her nose in the air and marched onwards, with as much dignity as it is possible to have when one is covered in rotten garbage. She had marched out with her father, tall and proud the whole way. However, when something weird had flown overhead, she could not help but allow a smile of delight to cross her face.

"Daddy," she said, turning to her father with a bright smile, "I want a flying glass elevator."

Everything would turn back around now, and she would be Daddy's little princess Veruca.

"Veruca," said her father, in a tone which surprised Veruca, "the only thing you are getting today is a bath, and that's final."

Veruca was shocked, but recovered in seconds. "But I want it!" she said. This never failed. Her father would give in now.

But instead, he glared at her, as angry as he had ever been. Veruca scowled and turned her head away. On the inside, she was churning. How dare her father refuse anything she wanted? And she was shocked; he had never refused her anything before. And, very deep down, she was sad. This was the end of an era – she could feel it.

As soon as they were out of the factory gates, they had pushed through the assembled crowd and caught a cab to the hotel they stayed at. It was the smartest hotel in town, which was really not saying very much. Veruca had had to throw her clothes away – they were quite spoiled. She had tried screaming and shouting at her father, but he remained firm.

"From now on," he said, "you are not getting what you want, when you want. It's time you and I learned a lesson."

Veruca had had a bath, and washed her hair. She had soaked for at least two hours, and –ugh – she still could smell garbage. She glanced at the clock – it was half past ten. Their flight home to England was at seven tomorrow. She'd better get some sleep.

With a weary sigh, Veruca snapped the light off and climbed into bed. Nobody understands me, she thought moodily as she drifted into sleep.


	2. Homeward Bound

Veruca's dreams that night were far from pleasant. She first dreamed of squirrels – sharp-eyed and twitchy-nosed, and clawing her skin to ribbons. Then she dreamed of being trapped in that horrid garbage chute, compressed, unable to move nor breathe.

She woke with a start, tangled up in her bed sheets in that stupid hotel bed. There was someone knocking at the door.

Sitting upright, Veruca called, "Who's there?"

"Veruca," came her father's voice, "get dressed quickly, it's half past five. We must be at the airport, and fast."

Veruca frowned, and flopped back on to her pillows. "No," she said, "I want a lie-in today."

"Veruca." Her father's voice was serious, like it always was when he didn't want to give her what she wanted. She could get round him quickly though.

"I'm not getting up," she shouted at the door.

"VERUCA!" He was shouting now. Veruca was startled – he never shouted at her.

"NO!" Veruca screamed. Now he would give in.

"Very well," said Mr. Salt. Veruca smiled, satisfied. She had what she wanted now. "If you don't get up now, I will sell your ponies."

Veruca sat bolt upright again, shocked. What in the world was happening?

"You wouldn't dare," she snarled.

"Veruca, just get up and get dressed, and stop behaving like a silly little girl."

"Daddy," Veruca whined. But there was no reply – he had walked away.

OoOoOoO

There was a sudden, unpleasant jolt as the plane touched down on English soil. Well, English concrete, to be precise. Veruca, dressed in her black velvet dress with the white lace collar and cuffs and a long, silver fur coat, was furious. Her father had not said a word to her since that morning. He sat beside her, reading the business section of his paper. Veruca was supposed to be reading her own magazine, but she couldn't concentrate on it somehow. Just two days ago, she would have been pointing to every advert in the magazine and saying, "Daddy, I want one of those."

"Daddy," Veruca said loudly. Maybe if she asked in public, he would give in.

"What is it, Veruca?" Mr. Salt didn't even take his eyes off his paper.

Veruca pointed to a picture of a girl modeling a pink dress, the kind of dress one would wear to a high-society party. "Daddy, I want that dress."

Mr. Salt glanced at it for just a second. "Don't be ridiculous, Veruca," he said, returning to his newspaper.

"But I want it!" Veruca said, her voice rising. People were starting to stare at them.

Her father lowered his voice. "Veruca, you are making an exhibition of yourself. Be quiet, and wait for others to leave the plane before you do."

Veruca glared at her father. What was wrong with him? He had never been so horrible to her before. You would think that what had happened in the factory would bring them closer together. They had both been humiliated – her father should know that.

"Daddy," Veruca tried again, this time adopting a wheedling, whining tone. He didn't even answer this time, simply folded his paper up as he prepared to leave the plane. Veruca crossed her arms and pouted.

"If you don't buy me that dress," she said, "I'm going to sit here until you do. And I shan't talk, and I shan't eat anything."

Mr. Salt still took no notice, and he left the plane along with the other passengers. Veruca sat with her arms crossed for nearly 15 minutes. Her father had still not come for her, and she was bored. With a face like thunder, Veruca left the plane and found her father waiting for her, with their chauffeur from home.

"Good to see you joining us, Veruca," Mr. Salt said, and he led the way out of the airport.


	3. Poor Little Rich Girl

"Veruca! Darling!"

Mrs. Salt, sitting in the hallway of their home and downing a martini, sat up straight and half-smiled at her daughter. She had not been able to smile properly for six months now, due to the Botox injections she had had.

"Mummy!" Veruca ran to her mother, but did not hug her. She and her mother never hugged. Mrs. Salt would drape an affectionate arm around her daughter's shoulders from time to time, usually whilst in the public eye. In private, Mrs. Salt had never been too bothered with her daughter, leaving the household staff to bring the girl up, and her husband to have 'quality time' with Veruca. Mr. Salt was mortally afraid of 'quality time' – he would simply give Veruca what she asked for, and leave her alone. Veruca reflected on this bitterly as she approached her mother.

"Why, you're back earlier than I thought you would!" Mrs. Salt was showing a lot of teeth, but there were no creases on her face. It looked very odd. "Did you have a lovely time, darling?"

"Mummy!" Veruca screeched. "I had the worst time EVER!"

Her mother sipped her martini elegantly as she listened to Veruca's story from start to finish. Her face bore no expression throughout the story. Veruca finished with, "And do you know Mummy, that prize went to the poor boy, erm, Charlie Bucket. I mean, I would rather it was he then that revolting Violet, she couldn't even chew with her mouth closed. Mummy, I want to sue that stupid factory. Look at me; I'm covered in scratches and bruises. I never want to see a squirrel again as long as I live. Mummy, I want all the squirrels removed from the grounds – in fact, I want every squirrel in the county removed, Mummy."

Mrs. Salt did her creepy half-smile again. "Of course, my darling. You shall have to discuss it with your father. Oh, and speak of the devil – Henry, darling!"

Veruca turned around to scowl at her father as Mrs. Salt stood up to plant an extravagant kiss on her husband's cheek.

"Veruca was just telling me all about your trip," Mrs. Salt said, relaxing into her chair again.

"Yes, and Daddy," Veruca was now convinced that everything would go back to normal now they were at home, "I want to sue Wonka chocolate, and I want –"

"Veruca, go to your room," Mr. Salt said. He was not looking at his daughter, but at his wife. "Your mother and I have to talk."

"But I haven't done anything!" Veruca shouted, stamping her foot in temper.

"Don't argue!" Mr. Salt's voice rose too, and he looked at his daughter now. No, he wasn't just looking at her – he was glaring at her.

"Henry darling," Mrs. Salt was evidently trying to frown, though no lines appeared on her forehead, "don't be too harsh on Veruca, she's had a very tiring few days."

"Angina, you and I must talk in private," Mr. Salt said. Mrs. Salt looked up at her husband.

"Henry, what on earth has come over you?" she asked.

"Something that should have come over me years ago," Mr. Salt said. "Veruca, go to bed."

"I want to eat first," Veruca said.

"You may eat in your room," her father said.

"But I want to watch television while I eat," Veruca said.

"Well you can't."

"But I want –"

"Veruca, for goodness' sake, just go to bed!" Mr. Salt exploded. Veruca stared wide-eyed at him. Why was he being so horrid to her? What had she done wrong? If anything, he should be nicer to her after her terrible ordeal in the factory. Why, she could have died!

"I hate you," Veruca whispered. It didn't seem powerful enough to whisper it, so she shouted. "I HATE YOU!"

The words left her feeling cold and emotionless. Her father was about to shout at her, she knew. She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs. She crashed into three maids on the landing. They had evidently been eavesdropping in on the argument.

"Oh, s-sorry, Miss Veruca!" they spluttered. Veruca would normally yell at them, and then she would have them dismissed later on. But somehow she didn't feel up to it just now, and walked away.

OoOoOoO

Veruca had been away for three days, but she had missed her room a lot. It was decorated in her favourite colour, pink, and was as tasteful as a 12-year-old's bedroom could be. Her bed was large enough to accommodate both her ponies. Oh, her ponies. Daddy had promised her another as soon as they arrived back from the factory. Would he still buy her the pony? She had chosen which one she wanted, but now...he was being so unreasonable. Well, that was his problem.

It was dark outside, and so Veruca turned the light on. The chandelier overhead light came to life, illuminating the large, neat bedroom. One of her pet cats, Victoria, lay on her bedspread, fast asleep. Her hair ribbons still lay coiled on the dressing table, just where she had left them the morning she and her father had flown to the factory. The door of her bathroom was still slightly ajar, revealing the gleaming white bathtub within.

Veruca crossed over to her bed, where her nightdress was laid out. She pushed her cat over slightly, undressed and changed into her nightdress. Turning out her lights, she slipped into bed. The bed was cold, so she pulled all the sheets to one side and curled up to try and keep warm. Victoria leapt off the bed and padded out of the room. It annoyed Victoria that none of her pets actually liked her very much. I mean, what was not to like?

Veruca turned over so she was facing the window. The moon was waning, but the sliver of it that remained was beautifully bright. She closed her eyes, and prayed for no nightmares that night.


	4. Cold Turkey

Veruca was woken at seven o'clock sharp by her maid.

"Miss Veruca?" said the maid timidly, standing by the door as though she was afraid a bomb would explode inside the room.

"Go away," Veruca said, pulling her bed sheets over her head.

"Miss Veruca, I beg your pardon, but your father told me that you have to wake up, and now," the maid said. "He would like to have a word with you in the dining room."

"For goodness' sake," Veruca rolled out of her bed. She caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror. Her nightdress was rumpled, her hair a mess. She pushed the maid violently as she passed her. "Out of my way."

It was still dark outside. February the third was dawning a cold and crisp day. The trees in the gardens were still bare, and there was a chilling mist floating through the grounds of the Salt mansion. The coldness seemed to have seeped indoors. Veruca shivered in her nightdress and bare feet, and she hurried towards the dining room as fast as possible.

Her father was sitting at the head of the table. He was already dressed in a smart suit. Her mother was up too, but was wearing a silk kimono and sipping coffee elegantly. Her hair was immaculate. Veruca felt scruffy and out of place, standing alone at the far end of the table. She cleared her throat, quite unsure of what to say. Her parents looked up.

"Veruca darling!" Mrs. Salt exclaimed, smiling scarily again. Veruca opened her mouth to say something, though she did not know what. But her father interrupted.

"Angina, please be quiet," Mr. Salt said. "Veruca, sit down. Why aren't you dressed?"

"Because I only just woke up!" Veruca snapped. "It's seven o'clock in the morning – it's not even a school day!"

Oh gosh, school. It started again tomorrow. Everyone would be desperate to know what had happened at the factory. She had spent weeks and weeks bragging about her ticket. But now, she just couldn't face up to them.

"Daddy," she said firmly, "I don't want to go to school tomorrow. In fact, I don't want to go to school again ever."

"It is funny you should say that," Mr. Salt said casually. "I called you down to say that you will be moving school."

Veruca was stunned. "I beg your pardon?" she said after a minute.

"Don't interrupt me," Mr. Salt said. "And sit down, right now."

Veruca sat. She was completely speechless.

"From now on, your life will change," Mr. Salt continued. "First of all, you will move schools. You will no longer learn at St. Cecilia's School for Girls. You are being transferred to Blakehead Park Secondary School."

Veruca could not help but allow a gasp to escape her lips. Even she had heard of Blakehead Park. "But Daddy – that school's been on the news! It's full of criminals!"

Her father did not react to her words at all. "Today, you will be driven to your Aunt Katharine's house. You will stay there for the next year."

Veruca felt as though the bottom of her stomach had dropped away. "W-what? A whole year? But daddy – why?"

Aunt Katharine had distanced herself from her sister Angina. Angina had been welcomed into high society when she had married Henry Salt. Katharine Burne was very middle-class, and divorced with two sons, Martin and Ollie. Martin was a sulky boy in his late teens, and Ollie was two years old and hell-bent on destroying everything he encountered. Veruca hated her aunt and both her cousins, and she always had the impression that the feeling was mutual.

"But Daddy," Veruca whined, "I don't want to go and live with Aunt Katharine. Okay, I'll go back to school. I didn't really mean I'd stay out of school forever. Maybe a month or two."

"Veruca," Mr. Salt sounded tired. "You must go and pack one suitcase. You will be driven to Aunt Katharine's just after lunch."

Veruca could not believe her ears. "One suitcase for a whole year? Don't be stupid. I need all my dresses, my toys, my books, television, videos, magazines..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Veruca. All you'll need is a few outfits, a book or two and maybe your favourite doll."

"But Daddy..."

"Henry, I think you are being a little harsh," mumbled Mrs. Salt, rolling her eyes at her husband.

"Angina, this is the only way to make our daughter a good person," Mr. Salt said, glaring at his wife. "She has been spoilt and indulged her whole life. It is time for a change."

Mrs. Salt's mouth fell open, and her eyes flashed. "Are you suggesting I have spoiled my daughter?"

"No," Mr. Salt said. "I was capable of spoiling her myself. But you, Angina, have neglected Veruca. We both share the blame."

Mrs. Salt was stunned into silence for a second, and then she began to shriek at her husband.

"How dare you even suggest that I have neglected my daughter!"

"I am not spoilt!" Veruca screamed over her mother's shrieks.

Mr. Salt stood up. "I am not listening any more. You are both ridiculous."

And he walked out, leaving them in the dining room. And, for the first time, Veruca and Angina Salt realised they had nothing to say to each other.


	5. Family Reunion

Veruca, firmly strapped into the back of one of the family cars, glared out of the window. Her arm was throbbing with pain. It was her own fault, really, but it would take a lot to make Veruca admit this.

She did not want to think about what had just happened. Most certainly did not want to go over her father's last words to her in her mind.

Closing her eyes, she pressed her forehead against the window and allowed the steady, dull, rhythmic hum of the car engine to lull her into a state of drowsiness.

OoOoOoO

"I'm not going!" Veruca shrieked. The butler was putting her suitcase in the boot of the car. Packed in a hurry by one of the maids, it contained five dresses, three pairs of shoes, one winter jacket and enough socks, tights and underwear for a week. A small bag containing toiletries, a comb and a few hair accessories had also been packed. Three books and Veruca's favourite doll were her only sources of entertainment.

"I'll be living like a peasant!" Veruca had screamed at her maid, snatching the suitcase away. "I want to re-pack!"

But she had not been allowed.

"Veruca," her father said as he stood on the steps of their home to see his daughter off, "your aunt and cousins do not live in a cave. There will be a bathroom there, and a washing machine, and a television. You have all you need.

"I want MORE!" Veruca yelled, and in a final fit of temper she stamped down hard on her father's foot in her stiff, leather shoes.

Even Mrs. Salt knew her daughter had gone too far. "Veruca!" she exclaimed. "Apologise to your father at once!"

Mr. Salt was white-faced with anger. "Oh, she will do more than apologise, Angina," he said, and he roughly grabbed his daughter's arm, pulled her down the steps and thrust her into the limo. "Make sure she behaves on the journey, Anton."

And that was it. No goodbye kiss. Not so much as a wave.

Veruca Salt did not have a handkerchief, and so her kid gloves were soon wet from wiping tears.

OoOoOoO

It was far too quiet. Veruca was accustomed to silence, living in the middle of the country in a large house. But this was a different silence. It was almost as if it was hiding something, a mask for someone.

The car had stopped outside a house in the suburbs. The house was tiny. Well, every house was small in comparison to the Salt mansion, but this house looked like it only had one bedroom and a conjoined kitchen/living room.

"Is this the right house?" Veruca asked her driver. He blanched, as though terrified she would bite him.

"Yes Miss, I mean it's 12 Sycamore Road...that is the address I was given."

"Ring the bell," Veruca ordered. "Check first."

The chauffeur obeyed, glancing at her nervously. The door was opened by a short woman in her early forties.

"Hello?" she said, frowning at the chauffeur. Then, she spotted Veruca.

"Goodness," she said, "Is that you, Veronica?"

Veruca clenched her jaw. This was a mistake that had been made by several people throughout her lifetime, teachers especially. When they found her name on a class register, they assumed it was a misprint.

"My name," she said, "is Veruca."

Aunt Katharine smiled grimly. She bore no resemblance to her sister Angina – her hair was short and auburn, her structure was short and stocky. And yet her eyes were a glorious shade of blue – the same colour as Veruca's eyes. Neither of Veruca's parents had blue eyes.

"Well," said Aunt Katharine, "you'd better come in. I can see we're both going to enjoy your stay."


	6. Ground Rules

The hallway smelt of cats. Veruca wrinkled her nose as she stepped over the threshold. She stepped on something hard, and looked down. It was a red, plastic car with a smiling face painted on the front.

"Oh, that'll be Ollie's," said Aunt Katharine breezily, bending down to pick up the car. Veruca stared at the carpet. It was a nasty, mushroom-like shade of brown, and was threadbare and scuffed. It contrasted sharply with her smart, highly polished leather shoes.

"Shall I fetch your suitcase from the boot, Miss Veruca?" said the chauffeur, still standing outside the door nervously.

"No, thank you," said Aunt Katharine politely. "Veruca can carry it inside."

"I don't want to," Veruca said bluntly. Her aunt ignored her.

"Do I need to pay you?" she asked the chauffeur. He looked thunderstruck.

"Uh...no...it's not...I mean..."

"Wait there and I'll fetch £20, just for your trouble." Aunt Katharine moved out of hallway, through a door that presumably led to the kitchen. "Veronica, go and fetch your suitcase," she called.

"VERUCA!" Veruca screamed.

"Okay then, Veruca." This made Veruca feel hot with anger. Why wasn't this stupid woman reacting? Most people would be falling over themselves to apologise by now. "Just go and fetch your suitcase, okay?"

Veruca stormed out of the door. Violently pushing the chauffeur aside, she stormed over to the car.

As she opened the boot, she heard Aunt Katharine talking to the chauffeur. "Do you really think she'll be that much trouble?"

"I'd be careful," said the chauffeur. "She flies off the handle pretty easily..."

Veruca pulled her suitcase from the boot, and then slammed it shut so hard, the lock broke and it swung open again. Storming up the path, she grabbed the £20 note from the driver, and tore it in half.

"There!" she bawled. "I hope I'm not flying off the handle!"

"Veruca!" snapped Aunt Katharine. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously. "Apologise. Now."

"I won't!" Veruca screamed.

"Right," Aunt Katharine was tight-lipped and angry. "Inside the house. Now." She turned to the chauffeur. "I'm terribly sorry."

"It's fine," said the chauffeur, looking petrified once more. "Um...goodbye."

Aunt Katharine stepped inside the house, pulling her niece in with her. She slammed the door shut and locked it.

"You, living room," she said, her eyes narrow with fury. "Now."

Veruca scowled, and tried to make as much noise as she could on the carpeted floor as she stomped into the living room. She stopped in astonishment.

"It's miniature," she said, a sneer in her voice. "Why, my walk-in wardrobe at home is larger than this!"

"I'm glad to hear it," said Aunt Katharine, closing the door. "Sit down."

Veruca turned her nose up at the squashy, cracked leather sofa, and the second-hand armchair beside it. She sat on the only chair that passed her inspection, a hard-backed wooden chair made of a dark, glossy wood. Tossing her curls over her shoulder, she glared at her Aunt.

"Your father was kind enough to provide me with a list of rules," Aunt Katharine said. "You will obey these rules while you stay here. If you are well behaved, you will be rewarded. If you misbehave, you will be punished."

"Yes," Veruca muttered, "I would like to see you try."

Aunt Katharine ignored her again. "One of the rules sent to me was: 'Veruca may only have £5 spending money per week.'"

"What!" Veruca sat up straight, stunned. "Are you mad?"

"Seeing as you just tore up £20," Aunt Katharine continued, "you will receive no spending money for the next four weeks."

She pulled a notebook from the pocket of her cardigan. "I have the rules here:

1\. The pocket money rule.

2\. Bed by 9pm on school nights. If Veruca is well behaved all week, she may stay up until 10pm on Saturday nights.

3\. Hours spent watching television will be earned, and Veruca may only watch television at the weekends.

4\. Up at 7am on schooldays, and up at 9am on weekends.

5\. Veruca will wear the same clothes as she has brought with her, and she will wash them herself.

6\. Veruca is to help around the house. She will learn how to cook, and will do the washing-up.

7\. Veruca is to join at least two after school or weekend clubs. We will pay for them, naturally, but they must be something useful, such as Spanish or swimming.

8\. Veruca will not go to any parties, unless they are family events.

9\. Veruca will spend at least an hour on homework each night.

10\. She must be taken to the library at least every fortnight. You will supervise what books she borrows.

11\. She will socialise with people, but you must supervise whom she is friends with.

12\. Above and beyond everything, Veruca must behave at school."

There was a brief silence.

"Are you mad?" Veruca shrieked. "It'll be like living in a concentration camp."

"I'm not going to get angry with you," Aunt Katharine said. "Anger clearly does not work. You will go to your room, unpack and read until I call you for supper. Your room is up the stairs, second door to the left."

Veruca stared at her aunt, her eyes narrowed. "I hate you too," she whispered. But Aunt Katharine just smiled.

"I know," she said.


	7. Cousins

"I suppose they think I'm Alice in Wonderland," Veruca muttered to herself. "I'm too big for this room!"

Her bedroom was tiny. Indeed, there were probably public toilets larger than the space she had been given to sleep in. The bed barely fitted the length of the room, leaving only enough space for a bedside table and the door to open.

"Where am I supposed to keep my clothes?" Veruca had asked Aunt Katharine.

"I'll take them for you," her reply was. "I'll store them in my wardrobe. Goodness, did you only bring dresses? You'll be needing a few jeans and jumpers."

"I don't wear jeans," Veruca said sourly. "Mummy says it's vulgar."

Aunt Katharine shrugged. "Very well. Now, you just stay here and unpack a little. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes."

Veruca sat on her bed and looked Aunt Katharine in the eye. "Mummy told me before I went that I'm not to eat anything that has been cooked in a microwave, or any ready-made dinners. She said it will stunt my growth."

It felt silly saying this – Veruca was several inches taller than her aunt already. Aunt Katharine had taken note of this, for she just raised her eyebrows and left, closing the door with a snap.

Veruca removed her shoes, gloves, coat and hat slowly, and left them in a pile on the floor. She lay down on her bed cautiously, as though it might collapse at any second. The walls were papered in an ancient, flowery design, and the floor was just bare boards speckled with woodworm bites. The only source of light in the room came from a bedside lamp, perched precariously on the chest of drawers. There was one window – a skylight in the ceiling, displaying the darkening sky. The duvet was distasteful – bright orange with yellow flowers. Along the wall above her bed was a single bookshelf. The books on it were all thick, old and dusty. Well, they obviously weren't worth her time. Veruca had never liked reading – the books she had brought with her were only picture books she had enjoyed as a small child.

Her very favourite was entitled Each Peach, Pear, Plum. She hadn't read it for years. More out of curiosity than because she actually wanted to read the stupid book, Veruca flipped the cover back and began to read.

Of course, it was only a child's picture book, the kind of story she could read in less than a minute if she desired. She did so, flipping the pages impatiently. There were two other childhood books – The Tiger Who Came To Tea, and Ten in the Bed. Veruca examined them. She had cared so much about these stories once. Now, she didn't know what she cared about.

"Oh, you're all just books!" she said. "Stupid, stupid, meaningless books!"

In another sudden burst of temper, she threw the books against the wall, hard. They slid to the floor, a pathetic heap of ink and paper. Veruca breathed heavily, then felt close to tears again. She clenched her jaw. No. She would no cry a single tear while she was at Aunt Katharine's. Not a one.

OoOoOoO

The food looked disgusting. Veruca wrinkled up her nose at the steaming casserole on her plate.

"I suppose you eat cheap food every night," she commented to Aunt Katharine. Her aunt ignored her. Or perhaps she couldn't hear, which was more than likely as she was attempting to strap Ollie into a high chair. At two, Ollie ought to be too old for this kind of thing. Yet, at the age of two, he could not (or maybe would not) sit up properly at the table. He was screaming now. Veruca winced. She couldn't stand small children.

Opposite her sat her other cousin, Martin. Martin was seventeen, and didn't speak a word to anyone. He had grown his hair very long, and had a piercing on his lip. He slouched over his food, making no attempt at conversation or even eye contact. Every so often, Aunt Katharine would say, "Martin, sit up properly." Martin would raise his head an inch or so, and then drop it down again.

Veruca had always spoken her mind. "I think you're being very rude," she said to her cousin. He didn't look at her, but her aunt frowned.

"Quiet, Veruca. We don't talk while we're eating in this house."

"You don't talk at the table at all?" Veruca asked, surprised. In her house, she always talked at the table. Her parents mostly listened to her, or would discuss boring, grown-up things.

"No, you may talk at the table," Aunt Katharine said, finally strapping Ollie firmly in. "Just not while we are actually eating."

"That wasn't in the rules," Veruca said primly. Aunt Katharine shrugged.

"It's a rule of my own. Now be quiet, and eat."

"I don't like microwaved food," Veruca said, pushing her plate away. "May I have pudding?"

Aunt Katharine sighed loudly. "Another rule in this house is, you don't get pudding if you don't eat your main course. Isn't that so, Martin?"

Martin grunted, the first sign he had given that he was capable of basic communication.

"But the food is disgusting," Veruca said. She was deliberately trying to stir her aunt up. And yet Aunt Katharine still would not lose her cool.

"Very well," she said. "You can have fruit if you want. But no pudding."

"I suppose someone like you buys all their fruit from a supermarket," Veruca said, eyes narrowed.

Aunt Katharine raised her eyebrows. "Fine. Be hungry all night."

"I shall. And I shan't eat, and then I shall die from starvation and you shall go to prison for murdering me and everyone will be very sorry," Veruca said, losing her breath at the end of her sentence.

Aunt Katharine smiled. "Look at it that way if you want."

She stood up. Veruca felt a little nervous. Had she gone too far? Was Aunt Katharine the type to slap a child?

"Tomorrow, Veruca," said her aunt, "I'm going to take you to a place you won't forget quickly."


	8. Tesco

"It smells funny in here," was Veruca's first complaint of the day. She was strapped into the front seat of her aunt's car. It was odd, being in the front seat of a car. It was a rubbish car anyway – really old, wish rusty bits around the wheels and exhaust pipe. The rubber bits around the windows were peeling away, and there were biscuit crumbs strewn on the back seats.

Aunt Katharine did not reply, just glared in the rear view mirror and swerved sharply. Veruca did not like being ignored.

"I feel sick," she said. "Can we pull over?"

"No," muttered her aunt. "Be quiet, this is a busy roundabout."

"I'm going to be sick," Veruca said.

"No, you're not."

"Yes I am! Open the window at least!"

"Veruca..."

"Fine then – I'll be sick all over your car, and you'll have to clean it up yourself. I certainly shan't be helping you."

The car came to a sudden, abrupt halt. Veruca jerked forwards in her seat, the seatbelt cutting hard into her neck.

"Veruca, pleased don't start," Aunt Katharine said, her eyes still fixed on the road. "I am really not in the mood. I would appreciate if you would just be quiet and behave while we're here."

"I am being quiet," Veruca whined. She was aware she was whining, but it gave her a sort of savage pleasure, the feeling one gets by denying oneself a great treat simply to spite others.

"For God's sake, don't you ever know when to just be quiet?" Aunt Katharine snarled. This took Veruca completely by surprise, and she was stunned into silence for the rest of the car ride.

After ten minutes of silence, they arrived at their destination. All Veruca had been told was that it was called Tesco. She had tried to imagine what Tesco might be. It sounded Italian. Was it a boutique?

No. It wasn't a boutique. It was the furthest from an elegant shop it was possible to get. Tesco turned out to be a large, ugly, concreted supermarket. The sign was fluorescent red and blue, and the paved area outside was crowded with grey-faced, gloomy people.

"You do your shopping here?" Veruca pressed her nose against the window, mesmerised. Gloomy, bland faces stared back at her. "It looks like an oversized funeral parlour."

"Veruca!" Aunt Katharine glared at her, rattling the gear stick furiously. "Behave."

"I didn't say anything," Veruca snapped.

The car swerved into a parking space. Aunt Katharine pulled hard on the brake. She stayed still in her seat for a minute, pinching the bridge of her nose. Veruca turned away from her, and tried to open the door. It was locked.

"I want to get out," she said bluntly.

"The first lesson," said Aunt Katharine, not looking at her niece, "is to not say "I want" all the time. If you want something, say "Please may I"."

"Please may I, I want to get out," Veruca said flippantly. She pulled hard on the silver handle of the door. It still would not open. "Unlock it now!"

"Where we live, Veruca, saying "I want it now!" will not get you anything. It will only make people laugh at you. And you may well learn this when you start at your new school. I don't want you to be teased by your classmates – that is the last thing I want. But you will need to cooperate."

Veruca stayed still for a second, turning Aunt Katharine's words over in her mind. Then she folded her arms and stuck her nose in the air. "I am cooperating."

The locks clicked open. Veruca unclipped her seatbelt, and slid elegantly out of the car, just as she had been taught to climb from a Rolls Royce. Aunt Katharine also left the car, but with bad grace and an ill manner. She pulled the boat open and retrieved a large plastic box, which she then dumped in Veruca's arms.

"What on earth...?" Veruca stared at the box. It contained empty plastic milk cartons, wine bottles, a margarine tub, a plastic Tango bottles and a container which had had its label torn off, but still contained a smear of tomato sauce at the bottom.

"Recycling. For the recycling point."

"Recycling?" Veruca's face took on a cattish smile. "Oh, I see. You're a hippy."

"I most certainly am not!"

"Mummy told me only hippies recycled."

"Don't be such a snob," Aunt Katharine said, her tone full of disbelief. "Nearly everyone I know recycles."

"Well, you must have a lot of hippy friends."

"No, I don't. Recycling is very common nowadays – everyone is more aware of global issues. Global warming and such."

Veruca rolled her eyes. "Global warming is a myth. Mummy said so."

Aunt Katharine looked interested. "Do you get all your information about the world from your mother?"

"No! I watch the news regularly."

"Yes, but do you go out a lot."

Veruca stood a little taller than usual, her nose still firmly in the air. "I go on holiday at least five times a year. More than you, I expect. I went to India earlier this year. We stayed at a five-star –"

Aunt Katharine interrupted. "No, no," she said, shaking her head. "Do you go out? To the town, maybe. Shopping with friends?"

"Of course! My mother took my very best friend, Tabitha Parker-Browning, and me to a lovely department store in –"

Veruca was interrupted a second time. "I just mean to the shopping centre. Do you go to places like Topshop, New Look?"

"My mother says they're vulgar," Veruca said.

"You're becoming like a parrot. Does your mother say everything is vulgar?"

"She would certainly say this place is vulgar." Veruca stared at the oversized supermarket. "Can we go?"

Aunt Katharine managed a laugh. "I occasionally feel that way myself. Now, let's hurry and do the recycling, then we can get the shopping over and done with."

OoOoOoO

The sights that met her eyes horrified Veruca. The bright, fluorescent lights. The smell of cooking meat, cheap cosmetics and hot plastic. And the people! Hundreds of them, ugly, ordinary people in cheap clothes with bored faces. Not a designer label in sight.

Aunt Katharine had a trolley, nearly full with the cheap food.

"I am expected to eat that?" Veruca sneered when she saw what her aunt had selected. "I don't think so."

Aunt Katharine was ignoring her again, humming to herself slightly as she pushed the trolley through the aisles. Quite a few people stared at Veruca. She was aware that she looked out of place, in her red dress and fur-collared jacket.

"Is that real?" she heard a woman whisper, pointing at the white fur. Veruca's temper got the better of her.

"Of course it's real!" she snarled. "I don't buy cheap things. Though I expect you are used to the cheaper things in life!"

An outburst of temper like this would have her servants at home groveling at second. But this woman just raised an eyebrow, laughed, and made her way.

"What is wrong with everyone here?" Veruca snapped at her aunt. "You're all so...so..."

"We're not snobs, you mean," Aunt Katharine said coolly. "I think it's time you went back to the car, Veruca."

She then said, so quietly no one but herself heard, "It'll be a miracle if you survive high school."

OoOoOoO

That night, Veruca went to her bedroom. She had been sent up after losing her temper with Ollie, and emptying her plate of peas over his head. She threw herself onto her bed, fuming with rage. Something crackled beneath her, on her duvet – something made of paper. Curiously, she felt under her back and found something. It was a magazine. Entitled Mizz, it was bright and glossy and cheerful-looking. A smiling actress Veruca vaguely recognised stared out from the front cover.

Veruca flipped it open. It smelled new and earthy. The first page was full of celebrity gossip. Veruca, being part of the British upper class, was familiar with the gossip of magazines and newspapers. This so-called 'news' was very second-rate, with poor grammar. It was easy to tell most of it wasn't real. And yet it was so absorbing.

Veruca turned over, spreading the magazine on her pillow. Propping herself up on her elbows in order to be more comfortable, she flipped the page.

A piece of paper fluttered from the magazine to the floor. Veruca scooped it up and held it close to her face, scanning the scribbled Biro text.

Veruca, the note said, I thought you might appreciate this. Be prepared. Aunt K.

Be prepared? Veruca thought, idly screwing the note into a ball and flicking it at the floor. For what?


	9. Dory and Danii

There had been no time to buy the uniform of Blakehead Park Secondary School. Veruca arrived at her new school dressed in the uniform of St Cecilia's. Teenage boys and girls, dressed in white blouses, red ties and grey trousers or skirts. The girls had adapted their uniforms exactly the way they wanted to, rolling their skirts up short with patterned tights, their ties knotted low, make up smeared on their faces. The boys wore large, scruffy trainers, and non-regulation zip-up tops over their blouses. Veruca looked ridiculously out-of-place. She wore a knee-length, navy-blue pleated skirt, knee-high white socks, black leather shoes, a white blouse with a navy blue jumper and a black-and-yellow striped tie. Her blazer was a dark, rich blue, with the school crest of St Cecilia's proudly stamped on the breast pocket. The finishing touch of her outfit was the straw boater on her head, trimmed with a navy-blue band. Her long, curly hair was scraped into French plaits and tied with white ribbons.

Aunt Katharine had raised an eyebrow when Veruca appeared in the hallway, dressed in her uniform.

"Are you sure you want to wear all that?" she had said.

"Of course," Veruca gave her aunt a superior glare. "I am going to school, am I not? Well, this is my school uniform."

"Yes, it's just a bit..." Aunt Katharine trailed off, her eyes narrowed as she inspected Veruca's uniform.

"A bit what?" Veruca challenged, her eyes flashing.

"Never mind. Get in the car."

"Is Martin not coming with us?" Veruca asked as her aunt unlocked the family car and climbed in.

"No, he takes the bus with his mates."

"Mates?" Veruca said, a sneer playing on her mouth. "Gosh, how you all talk."

"You talk just as strangely, Veruca," Aunt Katharine said. "I have never heard a teenage girl say 'gosh' before."

"Well," Veruca said, then realised she couldn't think of a comeback. "Well!" she repeated, then slid elegantly into the car.

OoOoOoO

"I don't want to go," Veruca said as she stared at the grey, concrete school building. "I've changed my mind. I'll be home-schooled."

Aunt Katharine laughed. "By whom, exactly?"

"A tutor, of course."

"And who do you think would pay for it?"

Veruca crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "My father, of course."

"As a matter of fact, I did say to your father that I thought you weren't ready for school. He insisted that you attend this school. Now hurry up."

"No."

"Veruca..."

"And how exactly are you going to make me?" Veruca challenged.

"I'm not going to make you," Aunt Katharine said. "But the bell will ring at any moment, and then you will be late. Will that be impressive to your new teachers?"

"I don't care!" Veruca snapped, and she stamped her foot a little as she said it.

There was a snigger from nearby. Veruca flung her head around, looking for the culprit. The guilty person was a girl who looked about sixteen. Her hair was a shade of brown that appeared almost black in the dull, grey morning light, and it was long, but chopped into various layers. Her face and lips were coated in foundation, her eyelashes spiked with black mascara. She too had adapted her uniform. Instead of a skirt, she wore a pair of small grey shorts over black, diamond-patterned tights. Her red tie was knotted low under a black tank top worn with her white blouse. Her blazer was nowhere in sight. A leopard-print handbag was slung over her shoulder, and diamante earrings flashed in her earlobes. Worst of all was the sneering smile playing on her mouth.

"You're a joke, right?" she said, looking Veruca up and down. She chewed a wad of gum, her neat white teeth moving up and down. Chew chew chew. Veruca was reminded forcibly of Violet Beauregarde's most disgusting habit. "God, you look like something out of Mallory Towers."

Veruca felt a wave of hot anger hit her. No one spoke to her like that, especially not while chewing gum in that obnoxious fashion.

"How dare you!" she screamed, and she reached forward and slapped the girl hard across the face.

OoOoOoO

"I had hoped we would start the term of better, Veruca."

The headteacher was a Mrs. Turner. She was young, with styled blonde hair, highly plucked eyebrows and crimson nails, which she drummed on her desk impatiently.

It was nine o'clock. Lessons had begun for everyone except Veruca Salt. She sat on a computer chair in front of Mrs. Turner's desk, a scowl on her face. Aunt Katherine sat beside her.

"Veruca has behaviour issues," Aunt Katharine began, by way of explanation.

"I do not!" Veruca snapped.

"Yes, I see what you mean," Mrs. Turner said, ignoring Veruca and addressing Aunt Katharine. "May I suggest the school counsellor?"

Katharine nodded. "Yes, I did consider enquiring about that."

"Stop talking about me as though I'm not here!" Veruca snarled, standing up. Mrs. Turner fixed her gaze on Veruca again.

"Veruca Salt, you will stay with me until afternoon registration. You will write three formal letters of apology. One to me for wasting my time, one to your aunt for wasting her time, and one to Dannii Walker for hitting her. You are very lucky I don't suspend you immediately."

"Dannii Walker?" Veruca scoffed. "That's a boy's name."

"I'll go, if you don't mind," Aunt Katharine stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Veruca, I'll pick you up at 4pm by the school gates. Try to get along with everyone."

Veruca spent the next four hours writing out her letters. English was not her best subject, and so the spelling and grammar were not as good as they ought to be.

_Dear Mrs. Turner_

_I am very sorry for waisting your time this morning becos I slapped Danny Walker in the face. She did deserv it becos she was hateful to me but no one is lisening to me at the moment. I also think your very mean and your nail polish is chipped._

_Yours sinserly,_

_Veruca Salt_

_Dear Aunt Katharine,_

_I don't see why I should bother writing to you because I live in the same house as you now and it seems very pontless. I suppose I am sorry for waisting your time, but you must agree with me that that girl did deserve it becos she was very nasty and she has a funny haircut._

_Yours sinserly,_

_Veruca Salt_

_Dear Danny Walker,_

_I think your very nasty, your hair is weird and you have a boy's name. You did not need to be rude to me this morning becos I didnt say anything nasty to you and tharefore you started it. You also shudn't chew gum when your near me because it is vulgar, Mummy says so. However, I have desided that I mite be able to forgive you if you are extra-nice to me._

_Yours unsinserly (becos I don't like you)_

_Veruca Salt_

_P.S. Yes I am the Veruca Salt who is very rich indeed. So I am better than you._

Veruca wrote hard, her brow furrowed and her tongue sticking out in concentration. Mrs. Turner read all three letters, and made her rewrite them several times each. Veruca ached to say something, but something told her it would not be wise.

Afternoon registration eventually arrived. Mrs. Turner directed Veruca to her classroom. It was located in the Maths department, several corridors along from Mrs. Turner's office. The corridors and the classroom doors were painted blue. The ceiling was white foam tiles, and the floor was blue lino. It was rather like being in an aquarium. The eerie silence of the empty school added to this effect.

Veruca's form class consisted of eleven girls and twelve boys. Veruca's gaze passed right over the boys – an ugly, noisy, unruly lot. She realised with a thrill of horror that Dannii Walker was in her class. Dannii was clearly younger than she looked. She sat with seven other girls. All of Dannii's gang had similar hairstyles, make-up and clothing. Dannii's eyes widened when she saw Veruca enter the room. However, it didn't take long for her to smile, and start whispering to her friends. They all turned to stare at Veruca, and some of them snorted with laughter as Dannii spoke to them.

There were three girls not in Dannii's gang. Two of them sat together, talking. They both wore their blazers neatly, and had clever, serious faces. One had red hair in a ponytail; the other wore her blonde hair long and loose and had thick-rimmed glasses. The third girl was Chinese. She was very small and neat looking, with shiny black hair worn under a yellow Alice band. She was not wearing a blazer, but her white blouse, grey jumper, skirt and tie were neatly ironed and very clean. And she was smiling broadly at Veruca. Veruca stared at the girl for a second, then looked away.

"You must be Veronica." Veruca's form teacher was named Mr. Stables. He was old and fat, with a terrible knitted tie.

"No, my name is Veruca," said Veruca sourly. More titters from Dannii's gang. Veruca glared at them, then glanced at the Chinese girl again. She was still smiling. The two serious girls had turned to stare at Veruca.

"Oops, sorry." Mr. Stables cheerfully crosses out 'Veronica' on the class register and wrote 'Verruca' over it. "What a...lovely name. Sorry about the misprint, it sometimes happens. Theodora Wilkie was down as Theodore for four months."

"One 'r' in Veruca," Veruca said pointedly.

"Yes, yes," Mr. Stables made no move to correct his mistake. "If you would sit over there with those three, it would be just lovely. I'm sure you'll be at home in no time, making lots of new friends."

Veruca snorted as she took a seat beside the smiling girl. Lots of new friends. As if she wanted to be friends with any of the scum who came here.

"Hi!" The Chinese girl spoke a split second after Veruca sat down. "You're new, aren't you?"

Veruca made a non-committal noise.

"That's good! I like meeting people. My name's Theodora Wilkie, but you can call me Dory, everyone does."

"Well, I shan't," Veruca said shortly. "I shan't be here for long, there's no point getting acquainted. And my mother says nicknames are vulgar."

"Oh, that is a shame. Still, everyone does call me Dory, even if they don't know me that well. I simply can't stand Theodora. It sounds like my parents wanted a boy. Which they probably did! My sister's called Nigella. We're from Hong Kong originally, but my grandparents moved here and changed their name to sound more English. Though I think it sounds more Scottish, ha! Oh, you must tell me if I'm talking too much, everyone says I do. I really can't help it."

"You are," Veruca said. "Please don't."

"I promise I'll try and stop. I really can't help it, all my family are the same. My dad is a lecturer at the university, though my mother is a hairdresser. They both spend all day talking, passed it on to me! Though Nigella is quiet as a mouse, she never says a word! It's hard to believe she's related to us sometimes. She's still in primary school, though she'll be coming up this year."

Dory paused for breath. Veruca couldn't help staring at her. She seemed friendly enough, though her accent was a tad on the common side (her mother was a hairdresser!). Dory might well be good company.

"'Scuse me."

One of the serious girls had spoken, the blonde one. She was looking at Veruca with great interest behind her glasses.

"What?" Veruca said, frowning.

"Are you the Veruca Salt, who won the Golden Ticket?"

Veruca's heart sank. She should have known people would have wanted to talk about that.

"Yes," she growled. The blonde girl gave a gasp.

"Oh wow! What's it like there, at Wonka's?"

Veruca thought for a second. "Boring," she said. "Very dull. Just machines. And that Mr. Wonka was as dull as ditchwater."

"Oh." The blonde girl was disappointed.

"Ignore Helen, she tried for ages to get a Golden Ticket," Dory said cheerfully. "You're awfully lucky to be so rich! I wish I could have gone too, it must have been so much fun! Oh, and beside her is Rebecca. She tried to crack the Golden Ticket code. Didn't succeed, but nearly got there. Say," Dory interrupted herself, "if you are so rich, why on earth are you here? I thought you'd go somewhere like Eton – oh no, that's a boy's school, isn't it? Well, the girl's equivalent to Eton, then. Is that why you're wearing a posh uniform? I thought it was odd."

The question had been pretty much lost, but Veruca tried to answer it. "Because I got such good test results they just had to let me go to spread my wisdom elsewhere."

Rebecca, the red-haired girl, raised her eyebrows. Helen frowned again. But Dory remained enchanted by Veruca.

"Wow! You must be ever so clever, then! I'm quite good at English, but I'm simply hopeless at Maths and Science and things. Perhaps you could help me with my work. Mr. Stables will be pleased with you; he's Head of Maths. I hope you stay for ages, Veruca. Perhaps we can be friends."

Veruca shrugged. "I don't really care."

Dory was still smiling, her neat little hands clasped together. "Let's, then."

It was only then Veruca noticed Dannii, still looking at her. Dannii was no longer chewing, but her eyes were narrowed. She was laughing with her friends again. Occasionally, one of the group would turn to look at Veruca before exploding into giggles. Then, Dannii raised one of her hands, and tapped her own cheek. She pointed at Veruca, and then made a slash gesture across her throat. She did not have to say anything. Her meaning could not have been clearer.

_I'm going to get you._


	10. Baked Beans and Chewing Gum

Veruca stared down her nose at the lumpy, orange slop that dripped onto her lunch tray. She fixed her eyes on the dinner lady.

"I don't want baked beans, thank you," she said pointedly.

The dinner lady was a short, rude, middle-aged woman with badly dyed hair and deep lines around her mouth.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, mocking Veruca's accent rather poorly, "but it is health regulations for the children. You have to have vegetables with your meal. You get me?"

"Baked beans are not vegetables," Veruca argued. Dory nudged her.

"It's not worth it," she said, accepting her own portion of orange sludge. "Seriously, don't bother with her. I once had a very long argument with that particular dinner lady because when I used to be a vegetarian (I couldn't keep it up, I nearly developed anaemia), she refused to serve vegetarian lasagne. C'mon, let's bag a table."

They sat with Helen and Rebecca, the two serious girls from form class. Why Dory bothered sitting with these two was a mystery, as the two girls ignored her and only spoke to each other. Veruca caught snatches of their conversation – maths, violin practice, soap operas, books they were reading. Veruca and her best friend, Tabitha, didn't talk about those sorts of things. They mostly talked about their families, shopping and what their fathers spent their money on. Recently, Tabitha had become very interested in boys, and so spent a lot of time giggling about one she had a crush on. The most recent boy was the son of a lord. Veruca had met him and found him very dull indeed. She couldn't see why Tabitha liked him so much.

"Veruca, you are simply too funny!" Tabitha said when Veruca told her she didn't particularly want to talk about the lord's son again. Sometimes Tabitha could be very, very silly.

"Veruca!" Dory's voice jerked Veruca out of her daze.

"What?" she snapped.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Veruca sat up straighter. When she did this, she was at least a foot taller than Dory.

"I was just thinking about my best friend, Tabitha," Veruca said. "We went to the same school, you know. She's ever so rich – her father is an earl. Of course, she's not quite as rich as me; she has an older brother so she's not an heiress like I am. But we are the best of friends, and we do everything together."

She looked at Dory, expecting to see the look of jealousy that most people had when told about Veruca's millions. But Dory didn't appear jealous, she seemed slightly sad.

"Oh," was all she said. This was possibly the shortest sentence she had uttered in Veruca's presence. Dory picked up a fork, and began to sift through her baked beans, head bowed, dark bob covering her face.

Veruca lost interest in Dory, and turned her head towards Helen and Rebecca to see if they were listening to her. They had stopped talking, and were looking at her. But their faces weren't envious, or even sad, like Dory's. They were looking at her as though she was an alien. Not nastily, like Dannii had, just...oddly. Veruca blushed, and she turned back to her own lunch.

Later, as Veruca followed Dory from the canteen to French class, she overheard a conversation between Helen and Rebecca, who were walking just behind her.

"Veruca...did you hear her...total snob!" A few words from Helen reached her ears. Veruca felt herself turn red again. For a split second, she was tempted to turn round and slap Helen, to show her. But something in her mind stopped her. Helen wasn't being malicious. And yet Veruca didn't like being called a snob.

She sped up, walking past Dory, determined to find her own way to class.

OoOoOoO

Everyone sniggered when Veruca finally walked into her French classroom, late. Madamoiselle Gondree, the French teacher, heaved a loud sigh as she marked Veruca's name from ABSENT to LATE. Then, she ordered Veruca to sit in the front row, just a seat along from Dannii.

Veruca was surprised when Dannii ignored her as she sat down. Dannii was scribbling on a piece of paper, frowning in concentration. She finished writing, folded the paper, and passed it to the boy sitting behind her, who passed it back again. Eventually, it reached a highly tanned girl right at the back, who was one of Dannii's friends. The tanned girl opened the paper up, and snorted with laughter as she read whatever was on it. She passed it forward again, and it reached another girl in the second row. Dory was seated right behind this girl. As the girl read and laughed, Dory stared at the paper. She then looked at Veruca, and bit her lip.

Madamoiselle Gondree was typing on her computer, ignoring her class. Their talking grew louder and louder. The piece of paper was eventually passed back to Dannii, accompanied by sniggers and snide glances at Veruca. Dannii folded the paper again, and casually flicked it at Veruca, a smirk on her face. Veruca stared at the paper as though it were sewage water. She didn't touch it at first, but curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the paper.

She was faced by four words written in block capitals and bright red ink.

VERRUCA SALT – RICH BITCH

Drawn underneath was a neatly shaded cartoon of a foot with a face on it. The foot had a crown perched on top, and wavy lines drawn all around it. Veruca peered closely at the face. Was that meant to be her? Dannii was rather good at art. It did look oddly like Veruca.

Carefully, and without looking at Dannii, Veruca turned the paper over. She scribbled her reply, illustrated with a cartoon, and flicked it back to Dannii.

"Okay," said Mademoiselle Gondree, standing up and turning the projector on. "We'll be starting where we left off yesterday, discussing ma famille. Who wants to volunteer to read..."

Veruca tuned out of her teacher's voice, staring at Dannii, waiting for a reaction. Dannii read Veruca's reply. Her mouth dropped open, and she crumpled the paper into a ball. Veruca smiled, and turned away. She had one over Dannii.

OoOoOoO

"So, how was your first day?"

Aunt Katharine opened a kitchen cupboard, and pulled out a packet of economy chocolate biscuits.

"Terrible," Veruca said. "Everyone there is just so nasty, especially that Dannii girl. I hate her. And last block, we had PE and I didn't have any kit, of course, but the teacher still made me do it in my ordinary uniform. I had to tie my hair in a ponytail for it because it's regulations, and then I didn't have time to put it back so I had to walk home looking a positive scarecrow."

"You didn't make any friends then?" Aunt Katharine took a carton of orange juice from the fridge, and poured some into a plastic cup.

"Well, one girl was quite nice to me," Veruca admitted, taking the orange juice from her aunt. "Her name was Dory."

"Oh yes?" Aunt Katharine seemed interested. "You can invite her for tea one night, if you want."

Veruca shrugged. "Maybe. Her mother's a hairdresser though, so I shan't be going to her house even if I am invited." She finished her orange juice and put the cup on the sideboard. "I'm going to my room."

"Do you have any homework?"

"A little. I don't want to do it though, it's maths and I hate maths. Could you write me a note, saying I am mentally distraught from changing schools and I can't do any homework?"

"No. Go to your room and do it."

Veruca scowled and turned around. She was just leaving the kitchen when Aunt Katharine called to her. "Veruca, come here a second."

Veruca spun round. "What! You just told me to go to my room; I am doing that right now! Watch me!"

"No, it's not that. Come here and stand under the light."

Veruca stomped to the middle of the room, and stood still, with her arms folded. "For goodness' sake, make your mind up what you want me to do," she snapped. Aunt Katharine was silent for a couple of minutes.

"What is it?" Veruca said, irritated by her aunt's silence.

"This Dannii girl...apart from hitting her, did you annoy her in any other way today?"

"No, she annoyed me. She did this horrible cartoon of me in French, and then passed it round the whole class. But I got my own back; I drew a picture of her in her stupid uniform and wrote UGLY SLUT below it. Mummy told me never to say that, but I didn't say it, I wrote it, and anyway she says it all the time."

There was another long silence from Aunt Katharine.

"What is it?" Veruca asked. Aunt Katharine sighed.

"You have a huge wad of chewing gum in your hair, Veruca," she said eventually.


	11. Li Wilkie Styles

Aunt Katharine had tried removing the chewing gum with an ice cube, but the hair had become wrapped around the gum as they tried to pull it out. Some of Veruca's hair split and broke as she desperately pulled at the wad of gum.

"Stop that, it'll make it worse. And don't shriek like that, you're giving me a headache. I think we'll have to have it cut." Veruca started to bawl. This made Ollie burst into tears too, and even Martin came down from his room to see what was going on (though he left quickly when he realised it was a "girly" problem)

"What do you suggest, Veruca?" Aunt Katharine asked irritably. "We can't very well leave it in. I see no other option than to have the hair cut above the gum. Goodness, I can't believe anyone would do this. I'll write in and complain to your headmistress, believe me I will. I don't understand why chewing gum is even allowed on school property. I can't stand chewing gum, it's sticky and disgusting."

Veruca's screams and subsided to sobs as she was driven to the local hair salon. By the time they arrived, she was just sniffling.

The salon was called Li Wilkie Styles. It was a nice room, with large windows, a tiled floor, black leather chairs for waiting in, and a spiral staircase in one corner. The staircase was marked "PRIVATE". There were six styling chairs, each one in front of a mirror and sink.

Veruca was too upset to register the name of the salon, but she did notice the woman behind the counter. She was short, wearing large gold glasses, dressed in a long shirt and jeans, and was Chinese.

"Are you Dory's mother?" Veruca asked as Aunt Katharine booked her in. Li Wilkie looked up, surprised.

"You are friends with Dory?" Unlike Dory, her accent was Chinese.

"I know her," Veruca said. "We go to the same school."

Li smiled. "It's good. Dory doesn't have many friends."

"Oh." Veruca could see why Dory might annoy some people. But she didn't deserve to be ostracised.

"Anyway, what can I do for you?" Li squinted at Veruca. "You don't look like you need an appointment."

"Someone put gum in Veruca's hair. Look," Aunt Katharine pointed at the patch of sticky white gum.

"Ah," Li touched the damaged patch of hair. "It will have to be cut out."

"Can't you just cut the gum out and leave the rest?" Veruca said, tears starting to well up in her eyes. Li shook her head.

"You'd look like a scarecrow. Believe me."

"I don't care." Veruca stuck her nose in the air. "Just cut the gum out, please."

Li glanced at Aunt Katharine, and then shrugged. "As you wish."

OoOoOoO

Twenty minutes later, Li had cut the gum out of Veruca's hair. From the front it looked the same as ever.

"That looks fine," Veruca said. Then Li held a mirror to the back of Veruca's head. She gasped when she say the patch where the gum had been cut away. It was only neck length, and the curls had tangled after their experience with the gum.

"It looks terrible," Aunt Katharine said. "Veruca, do the sensible thing and have the rest cut the same length."

"Your aunt is right," Li added. She began to cut at the rest of Veruca's hair.

"I hate you," Veruca told her aunt.

"I'm used to it by now," Aunt Katharine said, picking up a copy of Good Housekeeping and relaxing in one of the waiting chairs.

Veruca kept her eyes tight shut as her hair was cut. She could hear the schnick of the scissors, and could feel the curls of dark brown hair falling from her head and onto the floor. But if she kept her eyes shut, perhaps it would seem less real.

It was another half hour before Li stepped back and said, "There! Done. Don't be silly, open your eyes. I'm not that bad at hairdressing."

Veruca opened one eye, then the other. The large salon mirror showed a very different girl to the one she had last looked at. Her hair was cut into a mid-length bob, reaching halfway down her neck. Li had straightened her hair to take the tangles out.

"You like it?" Li asked.

Veruca shrugged. "I don't like it straight. Make it curly again."

Li rolled her eyes. She spent the next half hour washing then blow-drying Veruca's hair into its old, curly style.

"Are you finished?" Aunt Katharine asked, standing up. "Oh, it's not bad. It looks fine. You look a little like a brunette Shirley Temple."

"No I don't," Veruca said, tearing the black cape from her shoulders and getting to her feet.

"Would you like to say hello to Dory before you leave?" Li asked, taking the cape from Veruca and dusting the hairs off it. "She's upstairs, first door on the left."

"Do you live above your salon?" Veruca asked, amazed.

"Yes?" Li made her answer sound more like a question.

"Well, that's –" Veruca stopped talking after a warning look from her aunt. "Should I go up the staircase, yes?"

Li nodded. "That's right. You go, and your aunt and I will sort out payment. Go on."

OoOoOoO

Veruca knocked on the wooden bedroom door three times. It had the words DORY AND ELLIE'S ROOM – GO AWAY UNLESS YOU HAVE CHOCOLATE. Veruca tapped the word CHOCOLATE, frowning. She would never eat chocolate again. The whole experience in the factory had put her off it for life.

"Who is it?" came Dory's voice from inside the room. "Mum, I need my yellow socks for Guides tonight."

"No, it's me," Veruca replied, "Veruca."

"Oh!" Dory sounded utterly surprised. "Come in."

"I'm afraid I haven't got any chocolate, and I never will have," Veruca said, staring at the sign."

"What?"

"The sign on your door?"

"Oh, that. It's just a joke, silly. Come in."

Veruca pushed the door open. The room that greeted her was barely bigger than her bedroom at Aunt Katharine's. Yet two beds, a chest of drawers, a small portable television and a bookshelf were all squeezed into the space provided. The bookshelf was crammed with children's books, ornaments, DVDs and shapeless lumps of clay. The window, which stood opposite the door, was quite large, almost taking up the whole wall. The windowsill was overflowing with beauty products and teenage magazines. Two posters decorated the walls, which were painted lilac and had silver dolphins messily stencilled at random places. One of the posters hung by the bookshelf, and showed a fantasy landscape in rainbow colours. The second poster hung on the wall to the left of the door, and was of a man wearing nothing but his jeans. Veruca felt a blush creep into her cheeks when she saw that poster, and hastily turned her gaze to Dory.

Dory sat on the bed on the right hand side. It had a sunflower duvet cover and a yellow checked pillow. She was crouching over a kitchen tray wrapped in silver foil and covered in more shapeless clay lumps.

"Are you playing with Play-Doh?" Veruca asked incredulously, sitting on the end of Dory's bed without being asked.

"It isn't Play-Doh, it's modelling clay," Dory said hotly. She looked closely at Veruca. "Good grief, Veruca, whatever happened to your hair? Were you downstairs getting it cut? I can't imagine why, it looked fine just as it was. Still, I hate to blow my own trumpet (or not my own trumpet as such, but you know what I mean) but Mum did a very good job. She's really good; she's got a really steady hand because she used to be a seamstress for Angel's Costumier before she became a hairdresser. Do you know Angel's Costumier? They make costumes for all the major films and TV programmes. Mum did some work for the first Harry Potter film – I think her name is on the credits somewhere. And a dress she made was reworked for Stardust – did you see that film? I loved it, it was really good. And this fantasy piece she helped make was also re-worked for Doctor Who. Do you watch Doctor Who? The next series is starting soon, though I didn't like the Christmas episode..."

Dory had to stop at this point to draw breath. Veruca took the chance and cut in. "I had to get my hair cut because that Dannii girl put chewing gum in it. Please don't ask, I can't be bothered telling you." She picked up a piece of modelling clay from the kitchen tray. "So, why are you playing with modelling clay?"

"I'm making a clay animation," Dory said pointedly. "Or Claymation, if you'd rather."

"What's Claymation?" Veruca had to speak quickly as Dory looked liable to launch into another long story.

"Oh, it's like...it's...have you ever seen Wallace and Gromit?"

"Who?"

"You know, the Plasticine man and the dog...Aardman Animation studio?" Veruca looked blank. Dory thought again. "Okay, have you seen Chicken Run? It was made by the same people."

Veruca nodded. "Yes, I have seen that film."

"There you go. It's when you manipulate clay into different shapes and film each one - you get an animation. It's a hobby of mine. I make little animations. I'm not so good yet, I can make music videos though, and I could make a half-hour episode, like Creature Comforts. I can't do feature-length yet though, too hard. Plus I don't have enough clay."

"Do you mean you make cartoons?" Veruca put the clay back on the tray. "They can't be all that good – some of this is badly moulded. It doesn't have any shape."

"That's because I'm making a destruction scene," Dory said. "It's a music video to Camille Saint-Saens' Carnival of the Animals – though I don't suppose you like classical music much."

Veruca was indignant. "Of course I like classical music! Why, Daddy would take me to lots of classical concerts and proms. I expect you've never heard any of it live."

"I've seen the proms on TV."

Veruca snorted. "One hasn't heard music properly until one has heard it live."

Dory ignored the last comment, though she didn't look Veruca in the eyes as she carefully manipulated the clay to another position.

"Watch this," she said. She had a camcorder on the bed by the tray. It had been inexpertly taped to a tripod to keep the angle steady. "I record each individual frame for a split second, then when I play it back, it makes an animation. This one is to Finale from Carnival of the Animals. It's quite hard getting it to go in time to the music. You have to listen to the piece a lot –I'm almost sick to death of this one. Tell you what, I'll show you one I made already."

She leapt off her bed and grabbed a DVD from the bookshelf. Turning the portable television on, she slotted the DVD into it and pressed play.

"That's the one I just finished," she said proudly. "It's Fossils, also from Carnival of the Animals. I'm going to make all fifteen parts – the first one I made was The Elephant. I'm not really doing them in order – after I've finished Finale I'm going to do The Swan, it's such a lovely piece of music. My favourite one is Aquarium though – so beautiful and haunting."

"I agree!" Veruca said, suddenly eager. "That has always been my favourite piece. Can I help you with that one, please?"

She suddenly shut up, ashamed at having been so keen. It was not in her nature to speak like this in front of someone she hardly knew. Dory however, took it in her stride.

"Sure," she said. "You can help me with Finale after we've watched Fossils."

The animation Veruca watched was not exactly smooth or expertly done, but it was certainly charming.

"Why did you use dancing skeletons in the video?" she asked curiously when the film was over. "It was a little morbid."

"Because the music sounds like bones, don't you think?" Dory answered. She turned her camcorder on. "Shall we make some more of Finale?"

Veruca shrugged. "I don't mind," she said. Secretly, she was keen to learn how to make the clay move. "May I operate the camcorder?"

OoOoOoO

It was an hour before Aunt Katharine called Veruca downstairs to go home.

"Li and I had coffee and a chat," she explained to Veruca as they left the hair salon. "So, what did you and Dory do?"

Veruca shrugged. "We played with Play-Doh," she said. She didn't want to admit to her aunt that she had really enjoyed herself making clay animation. She and Dory had finished making Finale, and had started brainstorming ideas for The Swan. Veruca had left, promising to return some time soon. She wasn't planning on telling anyone yet, though.

"I hope this clay comes out from under my nails," she remarked to her aunt.


	12. George

"Oh look," Dory pointed above her head to the branches of a cherry tree. "Spring has sprung."

Veruca gave her a cool sideways glance. "You're weird," she declared. She couldn't help smiling just a tiny bit though.

It had now been two weeks. Veruca was beginning to adjust to life with her aunt, cousins and – well, perhaps not school. She would never, never learn to like Blakehead Park no matter how hard she tried (which admittedly was not very hard at all). It was rough and unpleasant. However, some people there might be worth it – Veruca found herself warming to Dory.

Dory clung to her like a particularly chatty limpet, which could become irritating. However, Veruca was determined not to grow too attached to her – after all, she'd be out of here in under a year. It was easy to think in Dory's company, as she talked enough for six people. Veruca still found it difficult to communicate with Helen and Rebecca, the two clever girls who sat at their lunch table every day. They always looked at her weirdly, like she was something from another planet.

"Penny for them?" Dory said suddenly.

"What?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Oh." Veruca frowned at Dory. "None of your business."

"No need to be rude," Dory said, and then rushed on. "Listen, I have an orthodontist's appointment at 12.30. I need to get braces I think – well, actually I don't know if I'm getting them today or if I'm just getting my mouth moulded again. The last time they did it, it went slightly wrong. I just hate that cold blue stuff they put in your mouth. I think you need to get a plastic retainer before you actually get train-tracks, is that right? I hate them too, they just look so disgusting. Train-tracks are no better though. Don't bits of food get stuck in them?"

"Sorry, what point are you trying to make?" Veruca asked.

"Oh yeah. Um, I'm going to the orthodontist's at 12.30, so you'll be on your own for lunch. Is that okay? I mean, you can just sit with Helen and Rebecca. That's okay, yes? If you're really not happy with it, I could just not go."

Veruca shook her head. "I'll be fine," she said firmly. "Honestly, as if I can't survive lunch on my own."

"You won't be on your own," Dory insisted. "You'll have Helen and Rebecca, remember."

OoOoOoO

Veruca did try sitting with to Helen and Rebecca. But she left after five minutes. It wasn't that Helen and Rebecca were being nasty to her. They talked to her every now and then, but they made her feel very inferior, which was a rare thing for Veruca Salt. Both of them were clever, which was a reminder to Veruca that she had never been very good at her studies. Being rich, it was not really necessary to do very well academically. Veruca had all the money she would ever need in life. And so she had no idea why it was bothering her right now.

"Where are you going?" Helen asked as Veruca stood up to leave.

"Nowhere," Veruca said defensively, and left. She knew they would probably talk about her the second she left, but decided firmly she didn't care.

There was nowhere to go. The canteen was full of people, with not an empty table in sight. Some people even sat on the floor, as there was not enough table space. It was mostly girls, spreading their homework books, make up and mobile phones on the tables, chatting and laughing. The corridors were lined too, with pupils sitting on every bench available. Outside, the concrete playground was full of first year pupils who still played outside at lunch. Boys tended to eat and play football on the Astroturf, or buy lunch at the supermarket, which lay just outside school boundaries.

Veruca knew absolutely no one apart from the two clever girls. Well, one might say she knew Dannii, but there was absolutely no chance on Earth she would eat lunch with her. And something told her there was no way Dannii would eat lunch with her either. Maybe there was a library. There must be. The library at St. Cecilia's had been a grand affair, spacious and magnificent, with more books than once could hope to read in a lifetime. Of course, no state school library would be like that. It was most likely that no one here even knew what a book was, Veruca thought bitterly.

Sure enough, there were signs for a 'Learning Resource Centre'. Veruca assumed this was a library. Honestly, did these people not even know what a library was? Ridiculous.

The 'Learning Resource Centre' was to be found on the first floor, just by the English department. The doors, made of wood and ugly grey plastic, were wide-open, welcoming students inside. Veruca stepped inside.

It was a single low-ceilinged room with a foam tile ceiling and a carpeted floor. The room itself was indeed quite ugly, but the librarian had gone to great lengths to make the walls look decorative. She had plastered them with posters from films and television programmes, as well as pupil's drawings and class displays on books. If it weren't for the ugly fluorescent lighting, the library space might have looked quite pleasant.

Bookshelves lined three of the four walls and ran down the middle of the room. A desk stood at the far end of the space, and seven gleaming, white computers dominated the remaining wall. Six of them were occupied. Veruca wasn't a big fan of the written word, and so she sat down at the unoccupied computer. There was a half-eaten sandwich in a plastic wrapper beside it. Veruca eyed it in disgust for a second, and then scanned the room for a bin. There was a waste paper basket beside the librarian's desk. Veruca carefully picked up the sandwich by the plastic wrapper, wrinkling her nose and careful not to allow her fingers to come into contact with the half-eaten bread and tuna. Dropping it in the bin, she pulled a linen handkerchief from her blazer pocket and wiped her hands on it as she made her way back to the computer.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

A boy, who had been working on the computer beside Veruca's, was standing up and facing her. He was the same height as her and looked the same age, and his face was twisted in extreme anger.

"I beg your pardon?" Veruca said, raising her eyebrows.

"Why the hell are you throwing my sandwich in the bin?" the boy said, almost yelling.

"Oh, was that your sandwich?"

"Yes, and I'd only half-finished it! Who the hell do you think you are, throwing other people's property away?"

"Well, don't leave it in my personal space then!" Veruca yelled back.

"Like hell it was in your personal space!"

"Excuse me!"

The new voice was the librarian, a short, grey-haired woman. She marched over to Veruca and the sandwich boy.

"What on Earth do you think you're doing?" she demanded, every bit as angry as either of them. "This is the library, not the playground. George, this is most unlike you. And you," she turned her gaze to Veruca, "what's your name and form class? I'm going to have to report you – both of you."

"I'm Veruca Salt," Veruca said bluntly, "and I don't know what my form class is. I don't care either. And it's his fault, he started it."

"Excuse me, but you threw my sandwich in the bin," the boy started angrily.

"Enough!" the librarian said. "I don't care who started. Please leave. Both of you. George, I'm surprised at you."

The boy, George, looked from the librarian to Veruca, then picked up his bag and stomped out of the library without another word. The librarian crossed her arms and stared at Veruca expectantly.

"Your library is stupid anyway," Veruca said defiantly as she flounced from the room.


	13. Chance Encounter

The year was progressing. March had given way to April, and with it came Spring and the promise of Easter. It also brought spontaneous bursts of rain and moments of sunshine, though never enough to fully enjoy it.

It was a Sunday– no school, no stupid supermarket trips, church was over – bliss. Veruca was finally over the 4-week-no-spending-money punishment. She had never been so glad to see a five-pound note in her life. This was odd because, she kept reminding herself, five pounds was absolutely nothing. At home she could have as much to spend as she pleased. Veruca still missed the hours spent in posh boutiques with her mother or her friend Tabitha, and the times she had sat in her bedroom, ordering anything she pleased online. But money wasn't something to be sneered at nowadays.

She wasn't going to let her aunt see that, of course.

"You may as well not bother," Veruca had said tragically, when given her first £5 installment. "I couldn't buy so much as a... as a button for this."

"I'll keep it, then," Aunt Katharine had said, beginning to pocket the note.

"No!" Veruca had shrieked, louder than she had intended to. "I mean... don't be stupid. After all, I could save up, I suppose."

Aunt Katharine looked surprised, though not nearly as surprised as Veruca felt after hearing herself say that. Veruca corrected her mistake by adding, "Not that that would do any good anyway. I mean, I'd need to save for at least ten years to actually buy something decent in this dump of a place."

Aunt Katharine smiled wanly, and gave her the note. "There's a newsagents on Easter Road – you know, the one next to the park."

"I know where it is, thank you," Veruca said primly. Dory had made her go in once, when she was having cramps and "really needed" some Green & Black's chocolate. It was a dingy little place run by one family, but it did sell vast amounts of sweets and magazines. Dory had bought Veruca a sherbet dip, and she had become secretly addicted to them.

Her aunt shrugged. "Well...knock yourself out. If you're going to Dory's too, be back for six, I'm doing roast lamb."

OoOoOoO

How could something so cheap be so utterly delicious?

Veruca mused on this as she sat on a bench in the park, dipping the red lollipop into the sherbet in the bag. She knew they were made of chemicals and sweeteners, but she didn't care. Only 20p a bag – enough for two and a magazine. All the teenage magazines seemed so childish – obsessing over silly pop groups and ridiculous clothes. She had bought a magazine called You and Your Pony – aimed at girls her age, and far more interesting than anything else sold there.

It was quite a hot day. Veruca crossed and uncrossed her legs, wishing she wasn't wearing wool tights. The sun beat down on her, heating her hands and her scalp. Her head began to hurt, a dull pain caused undoubtedly by her exposure to the sun. She decided to leave the park as soon as she'd finish her magazine, then go back to Aunt Katharine's and lie down in her cool, dark room.

Veruca was just beginning to worry about getting sunburn before she got home, when she heard someone shout her name.

"Veruca! Veruca Salt!"

It wasn't Aunt Katharine; this person sounded too young. The voice was distinctly male, so it couldn't be Dory either. Veruca looked up and looked around the park, trying to locate the person who had shouted her name. It was a pretty unimaginative park – large, flat and square, with a lot of grass and not many trees, and at the moment it appeared deserted apart from her. Veruca turned her head from left to right, looking for the person who had spoken. There was no one in sight.

"Veruca!"

Veruca nearly jumped out of her skin. This time, the voice had come from right behind the bench she sat on. Startled, she whipped her head round, and saw a boy her own age sitting on her bench. It took her a moment or two to focus on his face, and then she had to stop herself gasping in shock. It was none other than Charlie Bucket, someone she had wished never to see again. He was looking much less – well, poor than she remembered him, but then again, wasn't he now the owner of Wonka's chocolates? He was wearing reasonably decent clothes that actually looked clean now, and he wasn't as skinny as he had been.

"Do you remember me?" Charlie asked, smiling at her. Veruca looked at him for a second, then resumed her old, cold air.

"Yes," she said stiffly, "I do. And what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I was here because – you know the chocolate factory on the edge of town here? Well, we're buying it! Mr. Wonka and me, we're partners in the firm. I said, I think it would be good to have a couple more factories over the world – it'd cut down on distribution."

"Glad to hear it."

"They wouldn't be the same as the original one – that'd still be our main one, but... well, it'd be quite cool. Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you lived in Buckinghamshire? Are you visiting relatives?"

"Might be." Veruca turned her head away and looked determinedly at a tree in the distance. She wished he would go away. Her head was beginning to hurt quite badly, and she just didn't want to speak to Charlie. Being with him now reminded her of how horribly embarrassing it had been back at the factory, when she had tried to take that squirrel and, for the first time ever, not been given what she wanted. She had been quite sure that Charlie must hate her. She hadn't really spoken to him during the trip, just dismissed him altogether. Violet was the only other child she had really interacted with. She had disliked Violet very much, and was quite sure the feeling was mutual.

But Charlie wasn't acting like he hated her. In fact, he had actually said hello. It was amazing he had recognised her at all, thanks to her silly new haircut. Veruca felt rather confused.

"I, er, I'd better go now," she said, standing up. It was three o'clock, ages till her aunt had said she must be home buy. She could easily afford the time to sit and chat. But she felt too embarrassed to even look Charlie in the eye right now.

"Oh, okay." Charlie stood up with her, brushing non-existent creases from his shirt. "Where are you staying?"

"It doesn't matter to you," Veruca replied, glancing at him with her old 'I'm-worth-so-much-more-than-you' look.

"Nah, I'll walk with you for a bit," Charlie said, beaming at her.

"I'd rather you didn't." Veruca began to walk away. Charlie just followed her.

"Veruca, haven't you ever thought maybe you'd be happier if you weren't rude to everyone all the time?" he said, cheerfully enough. Veruca stopped, her lips pursed in anger.

"And if you want to walk with people, maybe you should not accuse them of being rude!" she snapped at him, in the kind of tone which reduced most of her servants to tears. Charlie didn't react to her tone at all, just carried on walking with an infuriatingly cheerful smile.

"Come on," he said as he made his way towards the park gate, "Just to the end of the street."

Veruca looked after him, her eyes narrowed. So I'm here because Daddy thinks I'm a bad person, she thought. Maybe if I'm nice to Charlie, it'll prove to him that I'm nice. Maybe I'll get to go home. And there was a tiny, tiny part of her that thought, and maybe Charlie's going to be friendly to me.

"Very well," Veruca said, in a bored tone. "To the end of the street."


	14. Calling Home

"Dannii's having a party, you know."

Dory announced this fact in a whispered cathedral voice, in such reverential tones she could have been announcing a cure for some dreadful disease. Veruca was too busy drawing on her English rough book to react.

"She's not going to invite us," Dory added gloomily, resting her head on her desk and trailing her arms in front of her.

Veruca sniffed. "Why would you want to go? I don't like her. She's horrible. Everyone here is horrible. I hate it. Well," she admitted grudgingly, "not quite everyone."

Dory gave her a small smile from her sideways position. Now that it was nearly summer, Dory was a lot more subdued. She was rather allergic to pollen, and this meant walking to school gave her a runny nose, watery eyes and spontaneous attacks of sneezing. It also meant she didn't talk as much, which Veruca enjoyed thoroughly – she could at least think in peace.

English was a welcome break from the rest of school. Most of Veruca's teachers didn't like her because of her rude outbursts, her refusing to do certain tasks, and because she tended to ignore their rules. She had been given detention a couple of times, and had had several punishment exercises. Her first detention had come about as a result of refusing to do a punishment exercise. Aunt Katharine had been furious.

"You're not some kind of...of special case, Veruca!" she had raged. "You're just the same as any other pupil!"

"I rather think I'm better than any of those dirty council estate rats," Veruca had replied coldly. Their argument had continued in this vein for another twenty minutes, eventually resulting in Veruca being sent to room and not allowed to go out that weekend.

But, her punishments were becoming less frequent, and her aunt had been so pleased about this she had promised Veruca a treat. Veruca doubted anything her aunt had to offer would interest her, but she now had the sense not to say so.

English was slightly different. Her teacher had arrived at the conclusion Veruca had learning difficulties of some kind due to her temper and bad spelling, and so put her at the back with Dory, who was also a poor speller, and more or less left her to it. Veruca didn't particularly care as it meant she didn't have to do any work. She hated English anyway. She was getting much better at art though, and secretly enjoyed the subject. Her old school had been really for rich girls, which meant the education standard was not particularly high. Just somewhere for the daughters of important people to mix together and show off their millions.

Dannii was in her art class, but their teacher Miss Roe had noticed a rift, and had sensibly placed them at opposite ends of the room. Dannii wasn't in English, thank goodness. The boy from the library – George – was, though. He sat two rows in front. He never looked at her during class, but the back of his head looked very hostile. The only time he had ever acknowledged she was there was the first lesson after their encounter, when he had stared at her for a few moments, then raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, George is fine," Dory said dismissively when Veruca mentioned him. "I used to do this drama club thingy in town, and he was in it. He's quite funny."

"I don't like him," Veruca said immediately.

"He doesn't seem to like you either," Dory mused. Veruca fumed silently. She didn't like dealing with people who didn't like her. She liked to call the shots.

The day dragged on, and when the bell went at half-past three Veruca couldn't have been happier. She walked home these days, as Aunt Katharine now refused to give her a lift. At first Veruca had thrown many tantrums over this injustice, but it was either walking or taking the bus, and Veruca hated buses. Oh, for the days when she could have just hailed a cab and gone home in peace...

She eventually arrived, the hair at the base of her neck damp with the effort of walking home, and knocked on the front door. Her aunt would not allow her to have her own key as there were only two copies, and Martin owned the other one. Aunt Katharine opened the door wearing an old apron and with flour on her hands.

"You're home quickly," she commented as Veruca stepped in, removed her shoes and dumped her bag on the floor. "I was just making fairy cakes."

"And failing," Veruca said snidely. "I smell burning."

Aunt Katharine shook her head. "That was Martin, trying to make toast. Bag upstairs. Give me your lunchbox and water bottle, please. PE kit?"

"Oh," Veruca paused. "I must have left it behind"

Aunt Katharine sighed irritably. "How on earth did you manage that?"

" I just put it down in the changing rooms. I didn't do PE, I don't like it."

"Veruca!"

"Football is a boy's sport. And they don't even offer horse riding or lacrosse."

"What about hockey? I thought that was very boarding-school-y."

Veruca rolled her eyes. "Hockey is so middle-class."

Her aunt began to walk back into the kitchen. "This is school, Veruca, not class wars. No matter what your mother says. Lunchbox, please."

Veruca handed her aunt her lunchbox and made to stride upstairs. "I have no time to empty it, I have homework to do."

"Really?" Her aunt looked interested. "Must be some good homework, I've never known you to be interested in your studies. Is it English?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Veruca said stiffly, "it's art. I have to do a project on Rene Magritte and the best project gets a prize, so I want mine to be the best. May I use the computer tonight?"

"Be my guest," Aunt Katharine said, then vanished into the kitchen with Veruca's lunchbox.

OoOoOoO

Veruca spent two hours carefully tapping out her project, using the book her teacher had given her and the online encyclopedia. The computer corrected some of her mistakes, and she decided to get her aunt to sort out any further ones later. She added pictures, saved what she had done so far, and then decided to email her friend Tabitha.

Hi tabitha,

I cant wait to get back home its horrid here. The school is full of common people and all the teachers are nasty. theres one nice girl though and she is sort of my freind. My aunt wont let me buy anything and her house is tiny.

hope to see you soon,

Veruca salt

She sent it, and turned the computer off. Her aunt came into the room at this moment with a cup of tea in one hand and the house phone in the other.

"Are you finished?" she asked, nodding to the computer.

"Nearly," Veruca said. "It doesn't need to be handed in for another week though.

Aunt Katharine smiled. "Good. I'm pleased to see you're trying."

"I'm not," Veruca told her quickly. "I just want to win the prize."

"Yes, whatever you say. Anyway, I have a surprise for you now."

Veruca perked up. "Really? What is it? Is it clothes?"

"No," Aunt Katharine said, frowning at her. "I called your parents, and you're going to see them in the summer for the day, just before we go away."

Aunt Katharine had booked a weeklong holiday in Norfolk that summer. It was far from the trips to the Caribbean or America or Europe Veruca was used to, but Norfolk was a pretty pleasant place. Martin wasn't coming as he was going on holiday with his friends instead. Thank goodness, Veruca had thought silently when told. She found it difficult to cope with people who didn't say much – unless her parents were paying them, of course.

"Oh," Veruca said. "That's... good." In fact, it was very good – she could probably persuade her parents into buying her stuff. Well, her mother anyway. Her father had been so horrible the last time they had spoken.

"And tonight," her aunt continued, "you can call home."

"Really?" Veruca leapt to her feet. She hadn't spoken to her parents in weeks. Now she could beg them to take her away from here. Maybe she'd cry, and say her aunt was hitting her. No, that was a bit too cruel. Still, her mother never refused Veruca when she started crying. Her father she wasn't so sure about. Not any more. "Give me the phone!"

"What do you say?" Aunt Katharine held the phone just out of Veruca's reach.

"Give me the phone, now." Veruca tried to snatch it.

"Wrong."

Veruca admitted defeat. "Give me the phone, please."

Aunt Katharine handed the phone over. "You see? If you really want to get what you want, all the time, you'll get much further if you're polite and not so rude all the time."

Ignoring the jibe about her manners, Veruca dialed her mother's mobile, praying that she wouldn't have to speak to her father. Luckily it was her mother who answered.

"Angina Salt?"

"Mummy!" Veruca cried.

"Veruca! Darling!" Mrs. Salt sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her daughter. "I was hoping to hear from you."

She didn't sound like she normally did when Veruca spoke to her. Usually her mother bore an air of sophisticated glamour and laziness, a woman who indulged the every whim of both herself and her daughter. She spoke to Veruca at least once a day, but Veruca couldn't ever shake off the feeling that something was never quite right. But today she sounded weird, though Veruca couldn't quite place it.

"Yes... well... here I am," Veruca said, tapping a finger against the phone.

"So, tell me all about your aunt's," Mrs. Salt said.

"Well!" Veruca said, and promptly launched into the whole sorry tale. Her mother remained silent all the way through, only commenting when Veruca said she'd had to get her hair cut.

"Dear me, when we meet up this summer we'll have to visit a proper salon."

"Yes, that's what I wanted. I thought we could go shopping."

Her mother didn't answer for a few seconds. "Well, perhaps not. I thought we could go to the National Portrait Gallery."

Veruca found herself pulling the face she used to when she lived with her parents – frowning, and pouting at the same time. She hadn't pulled that face for weeks now. "But why? We always go shopping."

"Well, not this time, darling. Your father doesn't think it a very good idea. We'll go to the hairdressers, but we can go to the Gallery. Maybe we can go to the Victoria and Albert Museum as well?"

"But I want to go shopping!" Veruca said, her eyes filling with angry tears. Her aunt mouthed furiously at her. Veruca tried again. "Please can we go shopping, Mummy?"

Her aunt shook her head, but Mrs. Salt remained firm. "No darling, I don't think it's a good idea."

"But I only have about five different outfits, plus my stupid school uniform!" Veruca wailed, stamping her foot.

"Maybe you can save up your pocket money and buy something else." Mrs. Salt sounded doubtful

"I'd have to save up for... for ten thousand years if I wanted to get anything nice!" Veruca yelled.

"Now darling, calm down. We'll have a lovely day out. But I do agree with your father – it will be good for you not to go shopping for once. Remember, you're at your aunt's for a reason."

"What, because I'm a spoiled brat!" Veruca shouted. "Whose fault is that – it's not mine! You should be here, not me! I hate you!" And she hung up and threw the phone to the other end of the room.

Aunt Katharine did not tell her off, surprisingly. She just looked at her niece sadly. "Now Veruca, was that really necessary?"

"Shut up!" Veruca raged at her. "I hate you too! It's all your fault it's so difficult here! If you weren't so tack and poor –"

But Veruca couldn't finish the sentence, because she knew very well she was about to burst into tears, and she didn't want her aunt to see. So she stormed out of the living room, slamming the door as hard as possible and stomping loudly up the stairs. She got to room, banged the door shut and threw herself onto her bed, crying so loudly that Ollie in the next room begin to scream as well.

The worst part of it all was that, deep down, Veruca had always realised that she didn't actually know her mother. Angina Salt was a stranger to her, a stranger who didn't care. Maybe she had sounded different tonight because she was trying to care. Well, it didn't suit her. Veruca knew her mother didn't like her. Nobody liked her. Well, she didn't like anyone. She didn't need anyone. She'd show them.

Veruca eventually stopped crying, when she felt sick and her head swam from the effort. She lay in a ball on her bed, and drifted into a light, dreamless doze.


	15. Journey to London

Weeks snailed by, dull, grey, monotonous. As the year inched closer and closer to summer, the weather became more unbearably hot. For the senior pupils of Blakehead Park, it meant exams, and so one could not walk through the corridors without encountering a huddle of 16-year-olds bemoaning their inevitable failure.

The school year drew to a close on a Thursday, with just the end-of-year prize giving ceremony in the morning, then home. Veruca hadn't been nominated for a prize, but Dory had won the Domestic Science prize. Not much of an achievement, Veruca thought snidely, but she clapped and smiled for her friend all the same. They parted after the ceremony, and Dory promised Veruca she'd organise 'something fun' over the holidays.

Veruca's summer would be dull, dull, dull. A week away in Norfolk at the beginning of July, then five more weeks of nothing but staying in that poky, tacky little house.

But first, she was going to London for the weekend. To meet her mother.

They had not spoken since Veruca had slammed the phone down on her all those weeks ago Aunt Katharine had not mentioned it, and Veruca had not apologised. Veruca could tell that her aunt had spoken to her mother, and had probably apologised for her. Good. Veruca certainly wasn't going to.

She regarded the trip ahead with a mixture of dread and excitement. She did not particularly want to see her mother, not for quite some time. It had been easy before the factory. They didn't need to talk. Giving your daughter anything she wanted was positively a good thing, as long as it kept you both happy. Now they both felt like they had committed a sin.

But on the other hand, Veruca could not wait to escape this horrid town and return to London, the city she was most familiar with. Though she lived her life in the Buckinghamshire countryside, London was the throbbing metropolis that had formed her shopping life. Being driven around Mayfair in one of the family cars. Sweeping through Bond Street with her mother, all the clothes she could ever want bought in the swipe of a card. Being little, and being taken into Hamleys in Regent Street, and gleefully choosing all the toys she wanted for Christmas. Cafés in Covent Garden, with hot chocolate and French cream cakes. That was what London meant. She was doing this for herself, not her mother.

Even more excitingly, Veruca was to travel by train, by herself. No Aunt Katharine. Her aunt had to stay and look after Ollie (the only other options were to take Ollie with her, or leave Ollie in Martin's care. Aunt Katharine was reluctant to bring Ollie with her, and there was no way on God's earth she was allowing Martin to look after him for an extended weekend). She would meet her mother's chauffeur at the station. Angina Salt had paid for the train ticket – Veruca inspected it, and noticed it was first class.

"I don't think your mother is quite getting the point of why you're here," Aunt Katharine said dryly the night before Veruca was due to leave.

"It's been nearly six months!" Veruca said, pouting a little. "I haven't done anything nice. Nothing at all!"

Aunt Katharine raised her eyebrows slightly, but allowed that one to pass.

OoOoOoO

Veruca slumped in her seat on the 9 o'clock train to London. She was tired – 9am was still too early, and she had not slept till late last night. If meeting her mother didn't warrant a sleepless night, nothing did. Still, it was nice to be back where she belonged – in first class.

Veruca stashed her pink case on the seat beside her (she couldn't bear the idea of overhead luggage – what if the train jolted and it fell on you?) and tucked her ticket in her coat pocket. It was far too warm to be dressed like she was, in the clothes she had come to Aunt Katharine's in (cream wool coat, pink dress, tights, gloves, patent leather shoes). But she had no summer clothes to wear, and Veruca Salt would rather die than wear anything worth less than £50.

After ten minutes of travel, however, Veruca realised she was far too hot. She removed her coat and gloves, folding them up neatly on her lap. Her seat was one of four clustered around a small table. The other three seats were empty.

She had bought a pony magazine and two packets of sherbet dip at the newsagents in the station, and so she settled back in her comfortable seat, magazine in her lap. She tore one of the dips open, and dipped the red lollipop into the sherbet, careful not to let any of it spill on her dress. Veruca began to read the magazine. She was a slow reader, and so she fully expected it to last the three-hour train journey.

However, she had read only four pages when someone brushed past her in the aisle. Veruca glanced up, annoyed. Couldn't people just look where they were going? However, her irritation soon switched to astonishment when she saw the person who had bumped her.

At a glance, the girl was almost normal – maybe a few months younger than Veruca, of average height for her age, and wearing a sweater, trainers and jeans. Her hair almost reached her shoulders, and was pulled back in a ponytail. Yes, she was almost normal.

But you simply don't see many normal girls with blue skin.

Veruca stared, wide-eyed, as Violet passed her by. She leaned out of her seat to stare after the blue-skinned American as she threaded her way down the aisle, and out of the train carriage. She must be going to the loo.

What were the chances of this happening? First Charlie, now Violet. But Violet hadn't recognised her. Why? Sure, her hair was shorter, but it had grown out somewhat since Dannii had put gum in it. Maybe Violet simply hadn't been looking. This infuriated Veruca – as if she wasn't important enough for Violet.

Veruca did not want to make the first move. But she also did not want to be ignored by Violet (the shame of it). And so she put her magazine down and waited for Violet to return.

A few minutes later, Violet passed Veruca again as she made her way back up the carriage. Veruca attracted her attention in the only way she knew how – by sticking her foot out slightly. Violet walked straight into it. She did not trip as such, but it did cause her to stumble, then look round at Veruca.

"Hey, watch what you're – oh!"

Violet's eyes widened, and her hands flew up to her head tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears. She looked a bit of a mess. Her hair was the same shade of blondish-blue it had been when she had grabbed that ghastly gum, though it was slightly longer now. Her eyes, formerly green, were blue – even the whites were tinged. Her skin was still blue – though Veruca noted it was a paler shade than it had originally been. Perhaps the skin faded with time. Her nails were still blue. Even the inside of her mouth, revealed by the fact that her jaw was hanging in surprise, was dark blue. Veruca smirked. Violet was probably jealous. Bruises from the chute and scratches from the squirrels were nothing compared to this.

And then Violet surprised her by smiling, and then sitting down in the seat opposite her.

"Veruca Salt!" she exclaimed. "How are ya?"

Veruca was too surprised to react, and blinked rather stupidly for a few seconds. Then she swallowed.

"Um," she said, "Violet."

"What're you doing here?" Violet asked, still smiling. And what was scarier, the smile appeared genuine, miles from that oh-so-fake "Let's be friends," moment last February.

What was she doing here? She was English! What was Violet doing in England?

Veruca assumed her old pose – back straight, nose in the air. For some reason it wouldn't come as naturally as it once had.

"I'm going to London," she said, "to –"

"Snap!" Violet interrupted. "I'm going to London too – I have an audition in the West End."

This stumped Veruca for several moments. "The West End?"

"Yeah," Violet's smile widened. Veruca noted that she wasn't chewing. "So when I got home I got a lot of crap for being blue? So at lunchtimes I joined this like, drama group with my friends, just to get away from some of the people at school? And we put on a play? I enjoyed it so much I joined a proper drama group and was in a major play in my town? It got great reviews, and my mom sent them to all her friends? And one of her friends in London works for like, this theatre company, and there's an American girl in this West End play they're doing? They're auditioning mostly British girls, but she thinks I should give it a shot? So my mom couldn't resist, and now I'm here."

Veruca nodded to show she had understood, and secretly marveled at Violet's ability to make every statement sound like a question. "Acting? You're an actress now?"

Violet smiled. "I want to be. I hope my like..." she gestured towards herself, indicting her blue skin, "I hope it won't be able to stop me. I'm working on fixing it. But acting..."

There was a moment in which Violet gazed into space, eyes shining, as though the idea of her future career thrilled her to the core. Then her eyes focused, and she was looking at Veruca again.

"So what've you been up to?" Violet asked.

Veruca was still unnerved by how...well, how nice she was being. She expected it to be a lie somehow – any minute now Violet would laugh at her and run away. But she didn't.

"Just...just school," Veruca said. For some reason, she felt more relaxed than she had been with Charlie. Maybe because Violet hadn't been 'the good one'. She had been bad too. Though she snatched that gum from Mr. Wonka, Veruca thought bitterly, it wasn't my fault I got dragged to that stupid chute. But Veruca could tell they wouldn't be talking about the factory. Not now.

"Cool." Violet clasped her hands on the table. "Where're you staying in London?"

"Er... the Ritz."

"No way! Me too," Violet grinned. "Just for two nights, it's pretty expensive. My mom says it's worth it – even if I don't get the part."

This was not the Mrs. Beauregarde Veruca had met at the Factory. "Oh... good."

"I'd better go," Violet said, getting to her feet. "I'll probably be seeing you later, if we're at the same hotel. Maybe we can get together or something, yeah?"

"Okay," Veruca said, blinking at Violet.

"Cool," Violet straightened her sweater matter-of-factly. "Well, I'll see you tonight maybe. Bye!"

And with a flick of bluish-blonde hair, Violet Beauregarde was gone.

Veruca sat in her seat, magazine forgotten on her lap. She didn't know what to say, or what to think. Violet had just been so... kind. What had happened? Was she being reformed by her mother, just like Veruca? She had actually wanted to meet up with Veruca, even though they had openly sneered at each other and taken delight in each other's misfortunes back at the factory.

The factory.

How it changed people.


	16. Indulgence

The luxury of it!

Veruca smiled broadly as she stared out of the cab window at London passing by, hands clasped neatly in her lap, eyes shining. The shops, the people, the hotels, the theatres! Everything was so decorated and alive and expensive-looking. This was her world.

It was nearly one, time for lunch. Veruca's stomach felt hollow (she had only eaten one slice of toast that morning, partly out of nerves, partly because she never liked eating much first thing in the morning anyway), and she thought of the lunches she had had at the Ritz with her parents before. Despite the heat, a shiver of excitement ran down Veruca's spine. High society at last.

Her mother was waiting for her outside the Ritz. She looked the same as ever: tall and blonde, lips painted crimson, eyebrows arched. She wore a white fur coat and high heels.

The cab pulled up by the hotel, and Veruca jumped out.

"Veruca! Darling!" Mrs. Salt embraced her daughter in her usual manner – an extravagant, perfume-laced, exaggerated affair. "Oh my god, your hair. Appalling! How much did you have to pay for that - £5? Dear lord, my sister... we shall go and have it fixed immediately, Veruca dear."

She was acting as though the whole conversation on the phone had not happened. Veruca paused for a moment, staring over her mother's shoulder – should she mention it?

No. Not just now.

"Yes, it's ghastly," Veruca agreed, stepping away from her mother and shuffling her feet. "I've been waiting simply forever."

"Was it even a proper salon?" Mrs. Salt said, eyeing Veruca's hair, her expression indicating there might have been a bad smell around.

"No," Veruca said before she could stop herself, "it was a tacky little hairdressing place on a common little road."

As soon as she had said this Veruca felt very guilty. She twisted her gloved hands as she thought of Dory's mother. Her own mother hadn't noticed.

"I've checked us in, darling, so we can go straight up to our suite. It's the Prince of Wales Suite, you know."

Veruca usually didn't listen when here mother talked about Where to Stay and Where Not to Stay, but she knew enough to realise that the Prince of Wales Suite was seriously impressive. "Oh!"

"Rather," Mrs. Salt smiled. "Come, we had best get to the salon if we want lunch before three!"

As her mother turned away, Veruca noticed her smile drop slightly. She wasn't cold; but there was something else there. Uncertainty. Veruca wondered if she should worry about this. Then she decided not to. This was her treat weekend.

As they made their way into the hotel, Veruca caught sight of her own reflection in the glass doors. She thought of what she had just said about Dory's mother's business, and felt slightly sick. She sneered at her own reflection. What a horrible girl was reflected in the glass.

Veruca Salt was indeed a horrible girl, it has to be said. She was still rude, pushy and a complete snob. And as she walked into that hotel lobby, she sized up everyone else there, looking down her nose, working out how far above them all she was.

But it has to be said; she did pick up her own bag and carry it to the suite.

At ten o'clock that night, Veruca Salt was to be found lying on her stomach on her hotel bed, typing away on her new laptop. She was full and sleepy. She wore a new nightdress, pink with adorable short, lacy sleeves, bought at a designer children's store. Her hair had been professionally styled at the Ritz salon (though she had noticed it didn't look very different at all from before). Two sets of discarded clothes lay on the floor – the dress she had worn on the train, and the outfit she had just been bought – the designer skirt, the cashmere jumper, the Italian leather shoes. More shopping bags were on the chairs and by the fireplace, filled with designer clothes, shoes, make-up designed for children, and everything she could want for school. She had a designer bag, designer pens, notepads and writing paper. There were even toys – dolls, and a toy rabbit so soft it could have been real. She had hair accessories (Alice bands, clips and pins), and jewellery – earrings with real jewels in them, a charm bracelet made of silver.

Veruca had never loved her mother as much as she did right then.

Today had been exquisite. They had gone to the salon first – Veruca had had her hair done while her mother had a rose petal luxury hand treatment. Then they had lunch – the exquisite food of days gone by. Veruca had almost grown too used to the food her aunt made, the microwaved unpleasantries of the supermarket.

They were supposed to go to the National Portrait Gallery. Angina Salt had a map, a brochure, and a plan. However, they had taken a cab there, and had only made it as far as Bond Street. Mrs. Salt had spotted a trendy new shop she wanted to have a look in, and ordered the driver to stop. She had looked around the shop, selected a few things for herself, and then bought a summer dress for Veruca. And that had been it. The start of the shopping trip.

The gallery had eventually been forgotten as mother and daughter wound their way through the streets of Mayfair, visiting shop after boutique after salon.

"I feel awful," Angina Salt told her daughter when they stopped for afternoon tea in a hotel café, "for leaving you with so little. Your father insisted, you know."

"I know," Veruca said, though she wasn't really listening. She was playing with one of her new scarves, sifting the silk through her fingers. This was absolute heaven. This was how her life was meant to be.

After tea, they went round more clothes shops, then the gadget shops. Veruca now owned a new phone, her own laptop (she had had one ages ago, but had thrown it down the stairs in a fit of temper and had then lost interest in computers), a miniature games console (pink, of course), all the electronic goods she had spent so long without. Then they visited Hamleys. Veruca felt she was too old for toys, but was still greedy for them, and had chosen some of the prettiest toys on display to take home. By the time they had finished there, it was late, and time to return to the hotel. Dinner had been served, and Veruca had spent the evening playing an interactive pony game on her computer.

Oh, how she missed her ponies – Sugar and Princess, both greys, both at home in the family stables. Her mother assured her they were both well cared for, but Veruca still could not wait until she could go home. She just had to wait for next February. Home, home, home.

Veruca stretched and yawned, spreading out on her bed. It was probably time to go to bed. She was tired. Today had been good – well, meeting Violet had been strange. She had not seen Violet in the hotel. Perhaps she had lied about staying at the Ritz. Veruca smirked. Probably jealous.

Snapping her laptop shut, Veruca rolled off her bed and made for the bathroom to clean her teeth. The bathroom was pure luxury, especially when compared to Aunt Katharine's. Veruca had taken a bath that evening, taking advantage of the free oils and lotions the hotel provided.

But just as Veruca laid her brush down and made to leave, she heard a voice from her mother's room. Pausing, Veruca listened intently.

"Oh come on, Henry! She hasn't been taken shopping in months, you should have seen the state of her – outfits all washed up, hair like a council estate child!"

Veruca froze. Was her father in the room?

There came a faint buzzing. No. He wasn't. He was on the telephone. Veruca paused, her hands on the sink.

"No, I was being perfectly sensible. We didn't make it to the gallery – for goodness' sake, it will be there tomorrow! What? Yes, I did. She needs new stuff, Henry!"

The buzzing grew louder. Veruca's grip on her sink tightened. Was her father shouting?

"Henry, don't be absurd! There's no need for you to come down here. For goodness' sake Henry, I can manage the girl on my own, she isn't a wild animal! Henry! Don't you dare –"

Silence. Then her mother cursed. Veruca heard the clacking noise as the phone was replaced in the other room.

Veruca switched the bathroom light out, and tiptoed into bed. She was shaking slightly. Her father was coming.

But so? What could he possibly do? Take all her new things away? Send her to a boot camp?

Send her back to Ant Katharine's early.

Veruca pulled her covers up to her chin, eyes wide open. The idea of meeting her father was somehow much scarier than that of meeting her mother.

Another sleepless night tonight.


	17. Violet

Sleep that night wasn't easy or pleasant. Veruca kept waking up, and when sleep came, it was a hot, unpleasant state of semi-consciousness. At half-six, she simply could not take it any more. She rose, and took a shower in the marble luxury of the bathroom. It was easy to forget things once standing under the hot jet of water. She played with the fancy jars and lotions, sluicing herself down with 'Lemon and Ginger' and 'Classic Rose', enjoying the contrast of the smell, and the sight of the foam bubbles swirling away down the plughole. She dried off with one of the fluffy white towels, brushed her teeth and put on her new silky green dress. It was barely seven o'clock.

Veruca peered around her mother's bedroom door. She was still asleep, facing away from her daughter and snoring rather loudly. Veruca closed the door as quietly as possible, as crept away. There was no way she was going to stick around and wait for her father to show up. No way on earth.

Veruca padded back into her room, and began to re-organise all her new possessions. She crammed the clothes in as few bags as was possible, making it look like her mother had bought her less. Dropping to her hands and knees, she gathered up all the extra bags and stuffed them under her bed. Maybe her father wouldn't be so angry now. She had to show him she wasn't spoilt. Not at all.

What to do now? Where could she go to enjoy herself without leaving the hotel? There was a casino in the basement, but it wouldn't be open yet, and she was twelve. There was a gym, but Veruca hated running machines and the sweaty smell that came with them. She could go and play on one of the computers, but there wasn't much point now she had her own laptop – and there weren't any sites she was very interested in.

What about the pool? She had a nice new swimming costume after all (blue with little pink roses on it, designer, naturally). Swimming at school was one of the few things Veruca had been good at, along with lacrosse and drawing.

Veruca began to search through the crammed bags for her new swimsuit – listening out anxiously for the sound of her mother stirring. She found it, snapped the price tag off, and made her way to the bathroom to get changed again.

There was no one else at the pool. Veruca left her dressing gown and slippers at the edge, and jumped straight in. It was only a small pool, but it was just the right temperature, and the chlorine didn't sting her eyes. She surfaced, pushed her hair back, and paddled over to the edge of the pool. There she stayed for a few minutes, eyes closed, feet drifting in the pleasantly tepid water.

The door opened, then closed again. Veruca started, and looked over at the person who had entered the room.

It was Violet. She was wearing a sporty, dark blue swimsuit, which made the rest of her look almost purple. She dropped her own white towel on the bench by the door, and jumped straight in, going right under.

Veruca moved away from the pool wall, one hand still on the edge, watching as Violet resurfaced. Violet tossed her own hair back, and then noticed Veruca. Why didn't she notice me immediately, Veruca fumed silently. I'm worth more than this. Violet didn't recognise her for a few moments, then smiled in recognition.

"Veruca!" she said. "Oh my gosh, hi!"

"Hello," Veruca said, sounding stiff, though she didn't particularly mean to. "Have you... I mean, have you had your audition?"

Violet's eyes sparkled. "Yeah! I had it yesterday like, in the afternoon? It went really, really good! We were in the theatre and there were like, about forty girls. At the end five got called back and I was one of them! We had to do this piece again, and I'll probably find out today."

Veruca noticed she had a brace on her teeth, silver against her pale blue teeth, and felt a rush of smugness that her own teeth were fine as they were.

"Do you have to give up gum when you have a brace?" she said without thinking. Being in Violet's company again was restoring some of the old superiority she had felt in the factory. Violet's smile faltered slightly.

"No," she said. "Actually, I had to get it cos I was chewing all the time – my front teeth got like, pushed forward. I could chew if I want to. I just don't want to."

"Oh," Veruca said, puling herself slightly closer to the pool's edge, trailing her hand through the water.

"You know why I stopped chewing gum?" Violet asked. Her smile was almost gone.

"Er..."

"Because it's gross. It's disgusting, and also really rude, to be chewing all the time."

"Especially when you have your mouth open," Veruca said, "like you did."

Violet blinked, but didn't respond to this statement. She paddled over to the edge of the pool, one arm on the side, like Veruca.

"So," she said, "now we're here, are we gonna talk about what happened or not?"

"About what what happened?" Veruca said, rather stupidly.

"The factory. Y'know. Me, giant blueberry. You... whatever happened to you. What did happen to you? I just saw you like, covered in garbage. Mike wouldn't say anything about what happened to you or him."

"Oh, we're on first name terms with that Teavee boy, are we?" Veruca said snottily.

"We just talked a bit at the end, that's all. And stop trying to change the subject, Veruca Salt. I'm just trying to talk to you."

"Maybe I don't want to talk about the stupid factory," Veruca snapped.

"Maybe you don't, but you definitely need to. And who else do you know who's been there?"

"My father was there," Veruca pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm your age. C'mon, Veruca," Violet's tone changed; she was softer, almost pleading. "Please. I need this."

Veruca rolled her eyes. "Fine. I don't care. Tell me about your dreadful experience, then." I doubt it's worse than mine, she added silently.

Violet didn't answer for a few moments. Then she tipped her head back, looking at the ceiling, avoiding Veruca's gaze.

"Well," she said, and her tone was low and quiet, as though she didn't want them to be overheard, "you saw what happened to me in the Inventing Room."

"It was rather hard to miss," Veruca said, rather cattily. Violet shot her a look.

"So afterwards, I got rolled onto that boat. That was really scary – when we got going, I kept thinking I was going to fall into the river, and I couldn't move. And there were all those creepy little Oompa-Loompas everywhere. God, they were freaky. Anyway, I got taken to the juicing room. I don't know why there even was a juicing room, I mean, why do you need something like that in a candy factory?"

"Most everything there is pointless," Veruca interjected.

"Yeah. Anyway, I got...juiced. It was horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. I was all squashed, and I couldn't breathe, and all the juice..."

Violet stopped talking, and began to blink rapidly. Veruca realised she was probably trying not to cry, and averted her gaze.

A few moments later, Violet spoke again, her voice the same as before. "So when I got out, I realised I was so much more flexible (though I was still blue, obviously). My mom wasn't pleased though. The moment we got back to Atlanta, she told me to stop playing around with it. Didn't I understand? I was blue. Because I just grabbed that gum and wouldn't listen. She thought it was her fault. That she only wanted me to win all the time.

"So I didn't compete again. I didn't go back to school for a couple of weeks. Then I more or less had to, Mom's not a teacher or anything, and I had to get my education. But when I got back, I just got bullied. Because I was blue. Mom and I tried to get me back to normal for a bit – we saw doctors and scientists, everyone who might know how to do it. None of them could figure it out. We're still trying. It's faded a little now – maybe one day I'll look normal. In like, 40 years.

"But yeah, I got picked on. Quite a lot. My friends stuck by me – most of them, anyway. One or two showed their true colours. I guess that's a good thing. Sorta. Sure didn't feel like it at the time. There was this one girl in particular – she would just wait for me at lunchtimes and between classes, and throw things at me.

"And that's why I started on drama classes at school. I think I told you about that yesterday. One thing led to another, that's why I ended up here, auditioning."

There was a pause, in which only the hum of the pool fan and the soft lapping of the water broke the silence.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Veruca said quietly, all malice gone from her voice.

"Because I've changed. I think you have, too."

Violet held her gaze for several moments, her purple-blue eyes unblinking.

"So," she continued, "tell me all about you."

Once Veruca began to speak, she couldn't quite stop. The beginning part was the worst; first of all, it was difficult to explain exactly why she had tried to grab the squirrel. Veruca maintained that she had been provoked by Mr. Wonka's refusal to sell her one, but something inside her told her that this wasn't quite right. And it also meant explaining the part of the story that no one had heard yet: the chute.

"I was dropped headfirst down the chute," Veruca explained as Violet listened. "It was really scary, rather like when you go down one of those slides in playgrounds that are like giant tubes. I hate them. I kept hitting my head and my arms on the sides, so I was covered in huge bruises when I reached the bottom. I was panicking – I thought I'd land on my head and break my neck. But there were piles and piles of rubbish at the bottom. That was even worse – it was completely disgusting. I fell down the pile and landed at the bottom. Honestly, it was the worse place I have ever been in, in my whole life. The smell! And then a few minutes later, Daddy came down too. He told me we were in an incinerator - I panicked."

Veruca omitted the fact that she had also screamed, cried and tried to hit her father. And that she had tried to crawl up the chute again. Her father had told her not to be stupid – she was out. Out of the competition, like Augustus and Violet. No special prize for Veruca. So she had sat and screamed for a good ten minutes, until an Oompa-Loompa came to let them out. Then they had left. Simple as that. No prize, not even a goodbye from Mr. Wonka.

"So what happened after you got out?" Violet asked. Veruca launched into an edited edition of her life from the plane trip home to that very day. How she had no idea why her parents sent her away. How much she was bullied in her new school (Dannii morphed into a whole gang of thuggish girls, and her snide remarks became verbal abuse, even physical violence). Violet listened, her face blank. When Veruca finished, Violet as chewing on her lip.

"Veruca, I...wow. I don't know what to say. That's awful. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Veruca said quickly, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. A newly formed conscious told her it was wrong to lie about being bullied. She squashed this thought down. Too late now.

"Still," Violet said, paddling her legs in the warm water, "we know what it's like, us loser girls."

"Loser girls?"

"Yeah," Violet said, "loser girls. We lost, didn't we? Lost out on the factory and all that."

"You hate losing," Veruca pointed out. Violet shrugged.

"If you lose occasionally, it makes winning more worth it," she said. "Now I've said that, how about a race? From one side to the other?"

"From one side to the other and back," Veruca offered, and she smiled. It was the brightest, most genuine smile she had ever given.

And it felt wonderful.

Veruca didn't get back to her room until after lunch. She and Violet had spent the morning in the pool, racing each other, holding underwater breathing competitions, and seeing who could sit on the bottom of the pool longest. Veruca padded back to her room in her slippers, dripping water on the fancy carpets, wrapped in her dressing gown. Her head was buzzing, and she couldn't stop smiling. The morning had been uplifting – she had a friend. Friend. The word was sweet and rich. Violet – her friend. At the moment, Dory was a mere footnote, and her friends from her old boarding school were smudges, ghosts from a life that didn't quite belong to her any more.

Veruca opened the door to their suite, shaking her hair out as she entered. Droplets of water sprayed everywhere, peppering her mother's coat, hanging by the door, with little dark flecks. She had utterly lost track of the time, and hoped her mother wouldn't be awake yet.

Veruca passed through the living room on her way to her bedroom – and froze. Her mother was sitting there, utterly immaculate in a cherry-red suit with matching lipstick and nails. She raised an elegantly plucked eyebrow at the sight of her daughter standing there, clad in a dressing gown, and looking rather like a drowned rat.

"Veruca, darling," she said. "Where on earth where you?"

Veruca would have thought it was fairly obvious where she had been, but didn't say this. "At the pool," she said. "I met up with someone I knew, Violet Beau–"

"That's nice, dear," her mother interrupted. She looked tense, edgy. A muscle over her left eye was jumping. "Please get dressed, it's nearly time for lunch."

"What are we doing today?" Veruca said, giving her mother her most charming smile, the one that meant she would get what she wanted.

"Perhaps the National Portrait Gallery later, dear."

"Oh," Veruca frowned. She had been hoping for more shopping. Still, never mind. "Okay."

"But first I think your father wants a word with you, Mrs. Salt said.

Before Veruca could answer, someone entered the living room from the adjacent dining room. A man, tall, grey-haired, smartly dressed. Familiar.

Her father.


	18. Daddy!

Chapter 18: Daddy!

Henry Salt stood there; newspaper tucked under one arm, and a frown on his face. Veruca gave a small gasp, and unconsciously stepped back a little.

"Veruca," he said, nodding curtly. Veruca could do nothing but stand there, clutching at her dressing gown, eyes wide. She did not want this. Not now.

Angina Salt sat bolt upright on the sofa, her eyes flicking from her husband to her daughter, mouth slightly open. You could tell she wanted to say something, but could not quite work out what.

"Please, sit down," Mr. Salt said crisply, putting his newspaper on the coffee table. Veruca didn't particularly want to, and six months ago she would have voiced this, loudly and rudely. She might have done so now if her mother had asked her to sit. But one look at her father's face told her this was not an option. She sank into one the cushioned couch opposite her mother, pulling her dressing gown over her bare knees. Mr. Salt sat down beside his wife, still frowning at Veruca.

"I think we still have a lot to discuss, Veruca," he said. His tone was cold an indirect. Veruca felt rather upset by this. She was used to her father treating her like a princess. Now, it was like he didn't even like her.

"Okay," Veruca said quietly. Her father reached into the breast pocket of his suit, and produced a piece of folded paper. He unfolded it, and passed it to Veruca. Veruca accepted it.

It was the typed list of ground rules her father had given to her aunt when Veruca had moved to her house. Rules one, two, three, four, eight, nine, ten and eleven had been crossed out, leaving:

5\. Veruca will wear the same clothes as she has brought with her, and she will wash them herself.

6\. Veruca is to help around the house. She will learn how to cook, and will do the washing-up.

7\. Veruca is to join at least two after school or weekend clubs. We will pay for them, naturally, but they must be something useful, such as Spanish or swimming.

12\. Above and beyond everything, Veruca must behave at school.

These remaining rules had been underlined. Rule 12 was underlined in red pen, with an exclamation mark at each side.

"I understand you have not been following these rules, Veruca," Mr. Salt said.

"Has Aunt Katharine been telling you about me?" Veruca said, her eyes narrowing.

"You know fine well she has been. I am disappointed you haven't even joined the swimming team at school, Veruca. Hobbies that don't cost a fortune would be good for you."

"Well, you clearly haven't been listening to Aunt Katharine, then," Veruca said pointedly, "because I do have a hobby. I help my friend at school make animations." Her father looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "So there," she added, childishly.

"Secondly," Mr. Salt continued, "you have been completely refusing to help your aunt around her house. This is not acceptable. You are living in her house, and you are not even a guest. I expect you to begin to repay your aunt for her kindness as soon as you get home."

"She could have made me if she really wanted to," Veruca said. Her father ignored her.

"Furthermore, you now have more clothes than the ones you took away with you," Mr. Salt said. "However, I realise this is not your fault."

He looked over at his wife, who stared back at him, bug-eyed. "What?" she said uncouthly.

"Angina, please leave Veruca and I," Mr. Salt said. "Now."

Angina gave a tinkly little laugh, her Botoxed eyebrows remaining still. "But, Henry, I really think–"

"Now," Mr. Salt said. Angina Salt's amused expression evaporated immediately. With a worried look at her husband and her daughter, she got up, and made for her own bedroom.

Veruca swallowed as her mother left. She didn't quite dare look her father directly in the eyes, instead choosing to concentrate on his left ear.

"Veruca, I understand it is not your fault your mother chose to buy you new things," he said. "However, while it is true that I accept full responsibility for the fact that you are spoilt (though your mother seems unwilling to do the same), I wish for you to understand that you are part of this solution to. You need to work at it. You need to know when to say no. Do I make myself clear?"

Veruca said nothing.

"Answer me when I speak to you, Veruca. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes," Veruca mumbled.

"Good," Mr. Salt said briskly. "Finally, and this is what causes me the most concern, your school record has been less than exemplary. You have been in detention on numerous occasions, have completed several punishment exercises, failed to complete more than you have been given, been banned from the school library for a short period, been sent to the headmistress's office, and I believe you hit another girl on your first day?"

"She –" Veruca began. Her father held up one hand.

"There is no reasonable explanation for this, Veruca. As far as I am concerned, you have had all your chances in this particular area. So I have taken appropriate action."

Veruca said nothing.

"When you leave London, I will be taking your new purchases away. You may not have them until you get home, and you must earn them while you are away. If you do not, they will be given away."

Veruca did not respond.

"You will be joining extra-curricular French and swimming lessons."

Still, Veruca said nothing. She had been expecting all this. The clothes just couldn't last.

"And at home, I have given away most of your pets."

What?

Veruca stared in shock at her father. Her pets? But...

"I kept your cats," Mr. Salt continued. "Everything else is gone."

So she still had Victoria and Fleur, the two adult cats, and Pearl and Opal, the kittens. But that meant her dogs were gone. Well, she didn't like dogs very much, to be honest. However, it was expected of one to own small dogs. Her rabbits? Boring. Never did anything except eat lettuce and twitch. The parakeets? Messy, and noisy. Same with the canaries. And the parrot. The turtle was equally boring, and she hadn't liked it very much after the initial pleasure of owning such an unusual pet had worn off. The hamster had done nothing but sleep all day, and the cage of white mice had been a birthday present Veruca had always ignored. Servants had always looked after these animals, not Veruca. The only animals she had paid attention to were her cats, and her ponies, Sugar and Princess.

Oh god...

"What about my ponies?" Veruca croaked, panic gripping at her.

"Sold," Mr. Salt said, "to two girls keen on riding, friends of a business associate of mine–"

"You sold my ponies?!" Veruca screamed, standing up. Up until now, she had been fine. She had been more than fine. This was the closest to calm she had ever felt. Before, she would have screamed blue murder at her father for selling so much as a whisker from one of her pets. But this was too far. Her father knew how much she loved her ponies.

She hated him, hated him.

"Veruca, you have to accept that things aren't always going t go your way in life," Mr. Salt said calmly. "You may fin that you lose things you love, and–"

"I don't care!" Veruca bellowed. "I was trying! Don't you get it? I was trying! All my detentions and things are from weeks ago! And you just... you just..."

Veruca couldn't quite find words to express what she thinking. So she hooked one foot under the coffee table and overturned it, sending it crashing into the fireplace. The glass top smashed.

Veruca stood there for a second, breathing heavily, and staring at what she had done. Her father looked at her, mouth open.

Veruca snapped out of it first. She bolted for her room, flinging herself inside and locking the door before her father could get to her.

OoOoOoO

He was pounding on the door, and shouting her name. "Veruca! Come out here, now! Come out and apologise for what you've done!"

Veruca didn't answer. She sat calmly on her bed in her swimsuit, not caring that it was causing a damp patch on the cover. She didn't cry this time. There was no point. Her feelings were beyond the point where they could be relieved by tears. Tears had been replaced by a steely resolution.

She sat there until long after her father had gone away. Just thinking.

It was time to let the old life go.


	19. Selfishness Aside

It rained far too much here, but at least it was peaceful.

Veruca picked up a stone from the beach and moodily threw it into the tumbling surf. She sat on the briny beach, wrapped in a padded jacket and wearing her warmest dress. She had flatly refused to wear jeans, despite her aunt's plea that she did. Veruca would always be more of a dress person. She had agreed to wear the wellies her aunt had given her however, mostly because they were pink, and really rather cute.

Norfolk's a far cry from last year's summer holiday, Veruca thought bitterly, plunging her hand into the bag of sugared almonds she had on her lap (they were the closest thing to sweets available in the village delicatessen). Last year it was two weeks in the Caribbean and a week in New York. And it didn't rain once. How times change.

She was on her own on the beach near their holiday cottage (which was small, smelled of damp and didn't have satellite TV). It was drizzling lightly that evening, and the sky was iron-grey as usual. Aunt Katharine was back at the cottage with a splitting headache, and had told Veruca to "go for a walk and stop looking so miserable."

Veruca hadn't said much since getting home from London. She had spent a lot of time staring into space with her mouth pinched, refusing to talk to her aunt about her trip. Aunt Katharine had tried asking her what it had been like. Veruca had just shrugged. Aunt Katharine had asked about her new clothes. Veruca shrugged again. Aunt Katharine, with a hint of impatience, had asked her how Angina was. Veruca had snapped at her, "Leave me alone!" and had stormed to her room, slamming the door loudly.

Aunt Katharine had, wisely, more or less left her alone since.

There was a single plus from the whole trip, however. Just before Veruca had left the hotel, Violet had run up to her, dressed in one of her sweatsuits, and gleefully presented her with a phone number.

"Stay in touch, okay?" she had said. "I'll let you know how my audition went – I don't get to find out for another week. See ya!"

Then she had bounced off.

Veruca hadn't phoned her yet. She told herself it was because she was on holiday, and hadn't had time. The truth was she was afraid that Violet might have the part. If Violet did have the part, she would be a success. She would have done something with her life – Learned Her Lesson. Charlie Bucket, who had been a nobody, was now one of the richest children in the world. Veruca had no idea how Mike and Augustus were faring, but she suddenly did not want to know. She had been the richest child to win a Golden Ticket. But maybe she hadn't been the best. And this inadequacy was driving her crazy.

Veruca put the bag of sugared almonds by her side, suddenly no longer craving sugar. Don't be selfish, she thought. Phone Violet. Just find out. You can't possibly feel any worse than you already do.

The grey light was growing darker – night was pressing down on the beach. Aunt Katharine did not like her staying out after dark here – there were no pavements, and no streetlights in the village. Veruca sighed, and got to her feet. One simple phone call. That's all you need to do. You're not afraid of anything.

"I'm not happy about you using the phone," Aunt Katharine said, "especially if you're phoning America. These things cost money, you know."

It was easy to forget this when you were Veruca Salt, but Veruca brushed the statement aside like a swarm of midgies.

"I'll pay," she said, cradling the phone. The stood in the hallway, Veruca guarding the phone, her aunt standing by the staircase, hands on hips.

"With what? Peanuts?"

"Don't patronise me," Veruca snapped, losing her temper rapidly. "It's like you don't want me to have any friends."

Aunt Katharine was frowning furiously. "I'm getting sick and tired of your attitude recently, Veruca!" she said – but she dropped the matter, and turned to go upstairs. "Just be quick. And got straight to bed afterwards. And don't," she said, pausing as she went and glaring at her niece, "tell your father I let you."

Veruca snorted. Some chance.

Her fingers flew across the keypad, dialing in the number. She held the phone to her ear, nervous as the ringing began. Then, she stiffened. What about time zones? It would well past midnight in Atlanta! If someone picked the phone up, it would probably be an irate Mrs. Beauregarde, demanding who the hell was phoning her in the small hours of the morning.

Before Veruca could hang up, however, she phone was snatched up.

"Hello?" chirped a voice that was unmistakably Violet's. And, judging by the amount of noise in the background, she had not just been woken up.

"Hello," Veruca said in a small voice. "It's me. Veruca. I just phoned to see how your –"

"I got it!" Violet shrieked. The phone buzzed painfully, and Veruca held it six inches away from her ear, grimacing. "I got it, I got it! Oh my God, I got it! I got a letter today! They want me!"

"Well done," Veruca said. Her tone was warm, and she realised she was smiling. And it wasn't the fake smile she used to get what she wanted (like that squirrel...). It was real, and she was doing it for someone else.

"I know!" Violet squealed. "All my family and friends came round, and we're having a party! It's like, four in the morning and I'm not even tired! Hey, listen to this..."

There was a crackle, then Veruca heard Violet shouting, as though far away, "Hey everyone, say hi – it's my friend from England!"

There was a combined yell – at least thirty voices shouting, "Hi!" Veruca smiled again, flattered.

"So what have you been up to?" Violet said loudly over the noise of her guests. "Anything cool?"

"I'm on holiday," Veruca said. "In Norfolk." Not as impressive as landing a leading role in a West End play, but better than nothing, right?

"Norfolk?" Violet sounded a little puzzled. "As in Norfolk, Virginia?"

"No, Norfolk, England," Veruca said. "It's on the east coast, you know..."

"Oh, right," Violet laughed. "It's confusing, isn't it. Like, there's a Cambridge in England and a Cambridge in Boston, and then there's Old York."

Veruca laughed. "Actually it's just called York."

Violet giggled, too. "Oh gosh, I knew that. I just stopped thinking for a minute, I'm always doing that. I called a sea lion a "land sea lion" in class once. That was stupid."

This led on to a discussion about all the stupid things they had ever done in school. Violet had a lot more than Veruca.

They chatted for a good 15 minutes, but were interrupted when Aunt Katharine came back downstairs.

"Are you still talking?" she whispered angrily. "Veruca, the bill will be well into the tens. Say goodbye, now."

"I have to go," Veruca said. "Sorry."

"S'okay. I'll call you back, maybe. What's your number anyway?"

Veruca began to rattle off her home phone number, then stopped. No use calling there.

"I'll give you my aunt's number," she said. "Only don't phone for another four days or so; we won't be back till then."

"Okay. Talk to you later. Bye!"

"Goodbye!"

Veruca pressed the end call button, cutting off the revelry sharply. She felt a little giddy. She had expected to feel bad about herself if Violet had got through. But she didn't. She felt good. And she didn't just feel good about herself; she actually felt happy for Violet. This was a strange feeling, but Veruca liked it.

Her aunt was still there, just looking at her.

"What is it?" Veruca said, frowning.

"You," Aunt Katharine said with a small smile. "You're an odd girl, Veruca."

Veruca narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

Aunt Katharine shook her head, smiling a little. "Never mind. Anyway, go to bed now. Big drive tomorrow – Cambridge, eh?"

"I have been before," Veruca informed her. "It's nothing special."

"Yes, but it will be Cambridge my way," Aunt Katharine said. "Less shops, more museums."

Veruca groaned, and made to go upstairs. "Boring. Well, goodnight then."

"Night." Aunt Katharine smiled at her niece. Veruca turned away and began to climb the stairs. She was pretty tired anyway – it had been an early morning, what with Ollie screaming.

"Oh, and Veruca?" Aunt Katharine said as Veruca neared the top of the stairs.

"Yes?"

"You are paying for that call, with your pocket money. Use a phone booth next time."

Veruca muttered to herself as she got ready for bed. Next time, Violet was so calling her.


	20. Ice Cream

It was hot.

Veruca never felt like doing much in the heat. Well, it was only ever really hot when she went on holiday, somewhere exotic like Egypt or the Mediterranean. When one was in a luxury hotel or on a cruise liner, you're not meant to do much. Lying around on a sun lounger or swimming lazily in the pool would do nicely.

But her aunt always wanted her to do something.

"I'm not moving," Veruca told her aunt. She lay in the back garden on a sun lounger. It was a rubbish sun lounger – one of the legs was broken so it wobbled infuriatingly, and it was ancient, all cracked grey plastic and mildew. She had put a towel down on it, which made it just about bearable. A heat wave had struck, and one could see rays of heat wavering over the road. The radio was full of bulletins about drought, and newspapers carried headlines about this year's 'scorcher'. A great British summer that would probably last only a couple of weeks at the most. Trying to actually move in this heat was unthinkable. Yet Aunt Katharine wanted her to go shopping.

"Veruca, the shop is three streets away," Aunt Katharine said. "All I'm asking is that you go there, get my shopping, and bring it back. It'll be good for you."

"You do it," Veruca said, covering her face with her pony magazine.

"I'm not leaving you alone with Ollie. I am simply not doing that."

Veruca snorted under the magazine. Like she wanted to be alone with Ollie. He had the 'flu, which meant he was either sleeping or screaming.

"And you need some exercise and fresh air," Aunt Katharine continued.

"I'm outside," Veruca mumbled, "breathing air. Freshly."

"Don't be impertinent. I'm sorry we couldn't drive out to the country like I promised, but I have to look after Ollie for now. Come on. Please. I bought you that dress."

This was true. Aunt Katharine had taken pity on Veruca's collection of clothes, which were mostly designed for winter wear, and had bought her a yellow summer dress, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Veruca had given the shorts to Dory, but had worn the dress every day for the last week, washing it every three days overnight.

Veruca lifted the magazine slightly. "Can I have my pocket money early?"

"If you go to the shop for me."

Veruca nodded, sitting up slightly. "I want to buy ice cream."

"We have ice cream in the fridge."

"Yes," Veruca said, "but it's bright yellow and tastes horrible. I want proper branded stuff."

"Right." Aunt Katharine wandered back into the house through the open French windows. "I'll scribble down a list for you. Please, get one carton of milk with a blue lid and one with a green lid – not two blues. And if there isn't any white cheddar, the orange will do fine."

Veruca yawned and stretched, not listening. Her head was pleasantly fuzzy, and her skin was tingling in the heat.

"I hope you remembered to put on sun cream," Aunt Katharine called. Veruca froze in the sun longer. Oh damn.

Wearing Factor 40 and a sun-hat of her aunt's (it was ugly but it might keep the sun off), Veruca wandered idly to the mini supermarket. The shopping list was so boring – eggs, milk, cheddar, bread, orange juice, custard creams, apples, blah blah blah... Veruca composed her own shopping list as she walked. Ice cream... magazine... Green & Black's chocolate...

She turned the corner just as someone crossed the road and began walking in front of her. She recognised the back of his head. It was George, from school. Sandwich boy.

He heard someone behind him and turned his head. On seeing Veruca, the expression on his face changed from passivity to contempt. He turned round again, and began walking faster.

Veruca slowed down, amazed that she felt slightly hurt. She didn't particularly like George, but she didn't want him to dislike her. He had no right to.

Stop being selfish, her aunt's voice said in her mind. Veruca mumbled to herself, and decided she simply did not care about one arrogant boy and his stupid sandwich issues.

Unluckily for her, George was also in the mini-supermarket, and he was also hovering by the ice cream freezer. Veruca stood as far away from him as possible, whilst still able to see the ice cream selection. It wasn't very wide. Most of the ice cream was gone, leaving mostly ice lollies. There was a single strawberry cornetto.

Veruca was about to slide back the freezer door, but George got there first. He opened the door, reached in, scooped out the cornetto, and made to walk away with it.

"Hey!" Veruca snapped. "I was going to get that!"

"Well, I got there first," George said smoothly. "Get another one."

"It's the last one!" Veruca said. "Let me have it."

George looked at her. "You should have got there faster. Get an ice lolly."

"I don't want an ice lolly," Veruca snapped. "I want that cornetto!"

George let a few moments pass. "God, listen to yourself," he said. "How old are you, five?"

Veruca was about to snap back at him, but she found tears rising in her eyes. Which was surprising, as she didn't feel upset, just a ghost of the old anger she used to feel when she didn't get what she wanted immediately.

George noticed too. "You're not actually crying, are you?" he said, sounding half astonished, half contemptuous.

"No!" Veruca snapped at him. "Go away."

He stood there for a couple of seconds, then scowled. "Whatever. Have it if it means that much."

He thrust the cornetto into Veruca's hand, which was hovering by the freezer door, and turned on his heel. He was out of the shop before Veruca could retort.

What was wrong with her? Why had she been so upset by a stupid ice cream? And why did George seem to hate her so much? That sandwich thing had been ages ago.

Veruca put the cornetto back in the fridge, no longer wanting it. Looking out of the window, she saw the sun had gone behind the clouds.


	21. The Turn of the Worm

It was the week every schoolchild dreads; the week before term resumes in August. Veruca needed a new school blazer. Her old one was several inches too short on each arm – and besides, she had been dreadfully careless with it, labouring under the false delusion that she wouldn't be spending too long at Blakehead Park Secondary School. Her shoes were worn down, and most of her school blouses were too tight under the arms. It completed her image. These days, Veruca would catch sight of herself in mirrors, and sneer. Her face was too thin now, and her hair was lank. There was almost no sign of the vivacious girl who had been there just a year ago.

Vivacious or overbearing?

There was one good thing about the new year: Veruca would now be in her second year of high school – not one of the youngest any more. It was her birthday in September, and she would be thirteen. A teenager. And it would be the first birthday that was not spent in lush extravagance with her parents.

"Is there anything special you want for your birthday?" Aunt Katharine asked Veruca on the day before school resumed. Veruca, who was lying on the sofa idly watching some dreadful daytime television show, merely shrugged.

"If there was I wouldn't get it, would I?" she said. Her aunt raised her eyebrows.

"There's no need to take that tone. Why don't you tell me, and I'll see what I can do?"

Veruca tipped her head back and stared defiantly at the ceiling. "A pony, a play-castle with running water, another pony, a chocolate fountain taller than I am, a gold tiara with diamonds and pearls set into it, my own fireworks display, a designer dress for every day of the month, an en suite bathroom designed by me, and a luxury shopping trip in New York."

Aunt Katharine just looked at her. "I'll come back when you're serious."

Veruca sighed, and rolled sideways off the sofa. It simply wouldn't do to tell her aunt that all these things had been birthday presents, in a time gone past.

She spent the rest of the day doing her homework (some maths exercises, and a dull essay entitled "What I Did Over The Summer"). Then she moved on to an art project. It hadn't actually been assigned yet, but Veruca enjoyed art, and was keen to impress her new teacher. Dory had told her that second year art involved a design project, and hers was on fashion design.

She finished the introduction after two hours of research and meticulous spell checks, and printed it out, laying it proudly on the table and admiring the freshly printed words complimented by pretty pictures. It was perfect. Completely perfect. She would bring it in the next day, and show it to her teacher. Veruca was not quite sure why she was so keen on this project, but being keen on something was a wonderful feeling.

Dory rang during dinner. Aunt Katharine answered.

"We're having dinner at the moment, Dory," she said. "Veruca will phone you back."

"No I won't!" Veruca yelped, jumping to her feet and snatching the phone from her aunt's hand. They were having cauliflower cheese, which had led Veruca to discover there was a food she could hate more than chocolate.

"Hi Veruca!" Dory said. "How are you? How was Norfolk? Oh, and how was London? Did you meet your mother? How was the art gallery? I went there once when I was five. It was boring then, but I bet I'd like it more nowadays. You don't really like art when you're little, do you?"

Veruca paused. "Er... I'm fine, Norfolk was okay, London was also okay, yes, I didn't go to the art gallery, and good for you. Now, why did you phone me?"

"Oh, yes. Do you want to cycle to school tomorrow? It's still quite sunny, and it's better than taking the bus."

"I don't take the bus," Veruca said shortly. "We walk, remember?"

"Well, anyway. I could meet you outside the salon at half eight and we could cycle from there. How does that sound?"

It sounded pleasant enough. However, there were two major problems.

"I don't have a bicycle," she said. "So we can't. Sorry."

"What's that about not having a bicycle?" Aunt Katharine said, turning round. Veruca repeated Dory's idea, somewhat reluctantly.

"Oh, you can have my bicycle," Aunt Katharine said airily. "It's in the garage. I could adjust the saddle for you, if you like – you're a little taller than I am."

"How old is it?" Veruca asked, tapping the phone nervously.

"The bike? Quite old. It has a basket on the front – you could put your books in there. Or your lunch."

Veruca shook her head. "I don't do old. Sorry, Dory." She twisted the telephone cord around her finger and bit her lip.

"Oh come on, Veruca!" Dory said. "Tell you what, I'll let you have my sister's bike. She's only ridden it twice. It has a Bratz design on the side, but –"

"I'm not riding someone else's bicycle," Veruca said firmly.

"Why?" Dory asked. And then, unnervingly, she hit the nail on the head. "You can ride a bicycle, can't you?"

Veruca's mouth opened then closed again. She swallowed.

"Of course I can!" she said. "Don't be ridiculous. I've been able to ride a bicycle since I was... since I was..." She searched around for a suitable age. "Eight."

"You only learned to ride a bike when you were eight?" Dory said. "Really? I learned when I was four. With stabilizers, of course, but I got them off when I was five. My sister learned when she was three. Why did you wait that long? Do you not like bikes? I don't think it's much fun having to fix them, so I let my dad do that, but riding them is great fun."

"Erm," Veruca tried to concentrate on the first question, "no. Did I say eight? I meant to say four. I was four."

"Okay," Dory said. "So... you don't want to cycle tomorrow."

"No," Veruca said, "I just don't want to. Sorry," she added, and was not quite sure why.

"Okay," Dory said, sounding a little subdued. "Well. Let's walk as usual. It's lovely to walk in August. We could get cake from the bakery."

Veruca considered this. She hadn't eaten cake for breakfast since the glory days, when she had done anything she pleased.

"Well... all right then," she said. "Tomorrow at half past eight."

"Yep. See ya then!"

They said their goodbyes, and hung up. Veruca sat at the table again. Her cauliflower cheese had gone cold. Martin, who has still barely said two words to Veruca, excused himself from the table.

Aunt Katharine turned to Veruca the moment he had left the room.

"You don't know how to ride a bike, do you," she said. It was a statement, not a question.

Veruca was about to say, "Yes, of course I can ride a bike," (in fact, she got as far as "Ye–"). But she changed her mind and told the truth.

"Ye– no. No, I can't ride a bike. Happy?" She scowled at her aunt, that old look of defiance on her face.

"Why didn't you learn? Didn't anyone teach you?"

"I don't like mechanic-y things," Veruca said sourly, "and I don't like cleaning things. Besides, no one offered to teach me."

"If you don't like cleaning things, how did you cope with two ponies?" Aunt Katharine asked. "They take a lot of cleaning up."

"What ever made you think I cleaned up after them?" Veruca said primly. "And anyway, I've actually had four ponies. I had a Shetland pony when I was little, and a white mare called Stardust when I was nine."

"What happened to Stardust?" her aunt asked.

"She hurt her leg, so Daddy had her put down," Veruca said nonchalantly.

"Right," Aunt Katharine said, frowning, "whatever. Tomorrow, after school, I am teaching you how to ride a bike."

"But I don't want –" Veruca began.

"Don't argue. It's a useful skill. Now," Aunt Katharine changed the subject before Veruca could protest further, "have you finished your homework?"

"Yes," Veruca told her, "and look! I started my art project before it even got assigned!" She pointed proudly to the introduction of her design essay, which was still lying on the table.

"Very good," Aunt Katharine cast an eye over it. "You've misspelled 'separate', by the way."

Veruca stared blankly at her aunt for a second. "What?" she said.

"'Separate'. You've spelled it 'sep –e– rate' here."

Veruca grabbed the sheet of paper and scanned it furiously. She found the offending word.

"That is how you spell it," she insisted.

"No, it isn't," Aunt Katharine said. "Didn't it show up on spell-check?"

"Yes it did," Veruca said, getting more worked up, "but it's wrong. It corrected my name too – my name only has one 'r'. That is how you spell 'seperate'. I've always spelled it that way."

"I'm sorry, but it's not right," Aunt Katharine said. "You can just correct it with a pen or something."

"No I can't!" Veruca snapped. "That would RUIN the whole essay!"

"What? No it wouldn't." Aunt Katharine got up and began to clear the table. She was apparently unaware that Veruca's temperature, which had remained under control recently, was about to go off. "You could always print it out again," she added.

The typo had annoyed Veruca. Her aunt's suggestion that she pen it out made her angry. But what infuriated her was the fact that she wasn't even reacting to her anger.

Old feelings resurfaced, and Veruca swept her plate right off the table onto the floor. It shattered, splattering lumps of cold cauliflower cheese everywhere. Aunt Katharine turned around. She hadn't seen what had just happened, and was frowning in disbelief.

"Did you just push that off the table?" she asked, bemused.

Veruca responded by picking up her glass of half-drunk orange juice, and throwing it against the wall. This time, her aunt ducked to avoid the shards of glass. She didn't manage to avoid the spray of orange juice, however – and neither did the essay.

Veruca sat there for a moment or two, feeling no emotion whatsoever. Then her aunt leapt to her feet again.

"You. Room. NOW!" she shouted, pointing. "Go. Just go. I'm sick of you. I'm sick of your attitude, and I'm sick of the way you treat everyone. You are not the centre of the universe, do you hear me, Veruca Salt? Do you understand? I don't know why I bother with you. It would serve you right to leave you as you were. You deserve yourself."

Veruca looked at her, some emotion building inside her. Anger?

"GO!" Aunt Katharine roared.

Ah. Not anger. Fear.

Veruca leapt to her feet and ran from the room and up the stairs. Martin was standing at the door of his own room, looking at her. He had heard.

"Psycho," he said, then retreated into his own room, slamming the door.

Veruca went into hers and sat on the bed. Déjà vu. This had happened before. But she was feeling something different. Every other time she had fought with her aunt, or even when her own father had yelled at her, she had felt either anger or a blank nothingness in the aftermath. But she was feeling something now.

Remorse.

And, for the first time in her life, Veruca cried properly. Not because she had been denied something, or because she was angry, or because she was trying to manipulate someone's emotions. Because she was sorry. Because she knew she had overreacted massively. Because of all the times she had made life difficult for someone. And the more she thought about the past, the more she cried.

Veruca woke up at about one in the morning, to go to the bathroom. Everyone else was asleep. The house was silent, with only the distant hum of traffic from the motorway nearby audible. She rested her hands on the sink and looked at her own reflection in the mirror, bathed in dim yellow light. She tried her old, sneering expression, then her most charming, winning smile. They still came easily enough. It was like looking back in time.

As she looked back on her former life (a 'ghost of the past', as she preferred to call it), Veruca couldn't help but feel remorseful when remembering her past actions, especially because she had heard that the stereotypical "spoiled brat" tended to act that way – selfish, stubborn, and often throwing fits of temper. But that was okay. It wasn't too late. Scrooge had changed, and so could she.

"Not any more," she thought. "That life is not the life for me. I'm taking a different path."

And she washed her hands and went back to bed.


	22. Birthday

It was six in the morning and the phone was ringing.

Veruca raised her head from her pillow, staring blearily at the phone on her bedside table. She had left it there the previous day, after a brief conversation with Dory about homework. Someone else would pick it up.

It rang five times before she picked it up.

"What?" she muttered. It really was too early in the morning to be charming or polite. Or even particularly coherent.

"Veruca!" Dory chirped. "Happy birthday!"

Veruca tried to think through the veil of sleep that obscured her mind. It was six in the morning... and it was her birthday. Her thirteenth birthday.

"You phoned me at six in the morning just because it's my birthday?" Veruca said sleepily.

"Yep! I thought you might be awake. I always get up super early on my birthday. Well, I used to – I don't so much any more, but I guess it's the same as Christmas when you're little, and anyway, kids always get up really early anyway, right? Which is why they always show those cartoons at this time in the morning, for kids. I still watch those if I can catch them –"

She was wittering again. Veruca dropped her head onto the pillow. This was too much this early in the morning. Dory chattered on in her ear for a bit.

"Why are you up so early anyway?" Veruca demanded when Dory paused for breath. "It's a Saturday."

"Yes," Dory said, "well, I'm up because I have to do something before I come round for lunch at yours, and I ran out of time last night. Homework and stuff. Well anyway, I'll see you at noon. Happy birthday!" And she hung up.

Veruca put the phone back on her bedside table. She turned over and tried to get back to sleep. It was useless. She was too awake. Besides, it was her birthday.

Of course, it wasn't going to be a good birthday. No fireworks, no chocolates from Paris, no cake as tall as she was. But it might mean Aunt Katharine would treat her the way she ought to be treated.

Veruca slipped out of bed, grabbing her blanket and pulling it around herself for warmth. Aware that no one else would be awake yet, she stole downstairs as quietly as possible, wincing at every creak of the stairs. After Dory's mini-ramble about Saturday morning television, she had planned to switch the set on and watch children's TV until her aunt was awake. However, those plans were gone the moment she entered the living room.

On the chair in the corner of the room was a mound of gifts, wrapped in pink paper, tied with shiny ribbons. Veruca gave a small, almost involuntary squeal, and descended on them. There was a card in a white envelope at the front, with Veruca written on the back. Veruca tore it open eagerly.

The card had a picture of a kitten wearing a crown on the front. On the inside it said:

Happy birthday Veruca,

You've been lovely recently, so have a great day!

Love Aunt Katharine

Martin had signed it in surprisingly neat handwriting, and Ollie's name was there too (thought it was obvious Aunt Katharine had written it). She closed the card, feeling strangely warm on the inside. Then she started on the rest of her presents.

Half an hour later, her aunt entered the room in a dressing gown.

"Oh, Veruca," she said. "You were supposed to wait until everyone else was up."

"Oh," Veruca said. "I'm sorry. But thank you! Thank you so much! Is all this from you?"

"Most of it," Aunt Katharine said, sitting down on the arm of the sofa. "The CD is from Martin." She pointed at the CD case, an album from a band called Infected Wound. Veruca was making secret plans to sell it to someone else. Still, the rest of her presents were rather wonderful. She had received a jar of expensive rose bubble bath (she knew it was expensive because her mother sometimes used the stuff), a pearl necklace, a lovely pair of shoes with bows on the front, a canvas tote bag, a voucher for a clothes shop and a lovely dress, pink and shimmery. She hadn't had any party clothes for months, and it was a relief to have something smart to wear.

"Well thank you," Veruca said, somewhat awkwardly. She felt a little strange. It really wasn't much what she had been given, not compared to her other birthdays. But it felt good to be given things, nice things, when she was supposed to be being punished.

"You're welcome." Aunt Katharine yawned. "It is early, isn't it. Oh well. You might as well go and get dressed, we've still got to go to the shops. You can get some party food for lunch, if you like."

"Okay." Veruca got to her feet. "Can I have chocolate cake?"

"Of course you can!" her aunt replied.

"And chocolate éclairs?"

"If you really want."

"And non-alcholic champagne."

"No."

The doorbell rang. Veruca, wearing her new dress, necklace and shoes, bounded down the stairs, nearly crashing into the wall, and opened the door.

"Hello!" Dory beamed. She was wearing her yellow headband, a yellow t-shirt and denim shorts, and was carrying a large cardboard box. "Happy birthday! Again! Gosh, you're thirteen, I can't believe it! It seems so old, doesn't it! Hey – in just three years time you'll be sixteen! Isn't that amazing! Though here it doesn't count for much, it'll just be like any other birthday, but in America they make a really big deal about it because you can drive when you're sixteen. Hey, maybe you could –"

"Come in, Dory, don't stand out there all day!" Veruca said, ushering Dory inside. "It's cold. What's in the box?"

"Oh!" Dory kicked her shoes off on the doormat. "Oh, I'll show you in a moment! I think you'll like it! I hope you'll like it."

She carried the box through to the kitchen and set it on the table. Veruca followed her through. Aunt Katharine and Martin were there – she was putting party food onto plates, he was trying to steal food whenever his mother turned away.

"Hello, Dory!" Aunt Katharine said. "What've you brought?" Dory looked at the chocolate birthday cake Veruca had bought.

"Well," she said, "you've already got one. But I thought I would try and make one... it's not that good anyway..."

She opened the box. Veruca and her aunt leaned in to see what was inside.

"Ohhh!" Veruca exclaimed. Inside the box was a sponge cake, topped with whipped cream, strawberries and peach slices. It had been topped with thirteen sparkler candles, the kind that fizzed like fireworks when lit. Iced rather wonkily on the cream were the words "HAPPY BIRTHDAY VERRUCA"

"It's not as nice as your chocolate one," Dory said rather sadly, pushing her headband back slightly. "And the side got all squashed when I carried it over. And I think I spelled your name wrong. But you don't have to –"

She was interrupted when Veruca gave her a hug. "Thank you, Dory. I love it. Of course we'll eat it today."

Dory looked at Veruca in shock for a moment or two, then smiled broadly. "If you're sure you like it. But what about the other cake? We can't eat two cakes between the five of us!"

"Four," Martin said, and left the room with two éclairs.

"Don't worry, I'll fetch Ollie," Aunt Katharine said briskly. "And I'll put the other cake in the fridge, and we can eat it later. How's that?"

"Great!" Veruca said. "Thank you!"

"Now, why don't you girls go through to the living room until the pizza's ready? Watch a video or something. Won't be long."

"Video!" Veruca scoffed to Dory as they went into the living room. "She's living in the nineties. We've only got a VCR with the TV, so everything we have is pre-2004."

"Don't worry," Dory said, "let's watch something Disney. My favourite's The Little Mermaid, I saw a re-release of it at the cinema when I was 4 and I totally fell in love. Do you have that? Oh well, never mind. Actually, it's your birthday, isn't it? You pick!"

The pizza was heating up, and Veruca and Dory were 22 minutes into The Aristocats when the letterbox rattled.

"Veruca, will you pick that up?" Aunt Katharine called. "I'm rather busy at the moment!"

"D'you want me to pause it?" Dory asked, sitting up straight as Veruca scrambled to her feet.

"It's fine, I've seen this bit before," Veruca said. She crossed to the doorway, entered the hall, and picked up the envelope on the mat. It was stiff – a card. She turned it over. Veruca Salt and her aunt's address were scrawled on the envelope in fancy, loopy writing. Curiously. Veruca raised the envelope to her face and sniffed. Chanel.

She knew who it was from.

Sitting down on the stairs, Veruca ripped open the envelope and pulled the card out. It wasn't a birthday card, but a single piece of cream-coloured card, with a coat of arms embossed at the top in gold.

The message was written in the same sprawling, elegant hand as the envelope. Lips pursed, Veruca read.

Darling Veruca,

Remembered it was your twelfth birthday. A cause for celebration! It's nearly time for you to come home anyway – well, February anyway. I'll be sending a car to pick you up tomorrow. Don't bother bringing a case – the stuff you have right now must be disgustingly old.

Lots of love,

Mummy

Veruca stared at the card for a few seconds, then carefully placed it on the stair beside her.

"It's my thirteenth birthday," was all she managed to say.


	23. Goodbyes

"I'm nervous," Veruca said, fidgeting.

"Why?" her aunt asked. "There's nothing to be nervous about. It's just your parents."

Veruca didn't answer. She nibbled her lip, tearing the top layer of skin away. They were sitting in the living room, by the window, watching the road. They had been there since nine that morning, waiting. Now it was two in the afternoon and there was no sign of a vintage Rolls Royce on the grey road outside.

Veruca was wearing her new dress and new shoes with her winter coat, an attempt to look smart. She was twisting the hem of her coat round and round her hand, one knee jiggling.

"Veruca," Aunt Katharine said, "relax. I'm going to make tea." She stood up. "Want some."

Veruca nodded. "Please."

Aunt Katharine had not been out of the room for three minutes when Veruca heard the roar of a car engine outside. She leapt to her feet and peered through the glass.

"Veruca?" Aunt Katharine called from the kitchen. "Do you want ordinary tea or herbal? I've got rosehip –"

"No time for tea!" Veruca cried. "The car's here!"

"What?" Aunt Katharine rushed in, abandoning the kettle. "Oh! Oh... it is. I'd forgotten it was such a... big car. Okay, are you all ready to go? Got your case?"

"There's not much in it anyway."

"Veruca. Okay, I'll go and get the door. And stop twisting your coat like that, you'll ruin it."

Veruca, bouncing on her heels slightly, followed her aunt to the door, keeping close to heel. Aunt Katharine opened it before the chauffeur even had the chance to ring the bell.

"Oh... Miss Veruca!" he exclaimed. Veruca realised, with a thrill of horror and shame, that it was the same chauffeur who had dropped her off all those months ago. She blushed, and dropped her head, as though this would prevent him from recognising her.

"Ah," Aunt Katharine said, "good afternoon. Would you mind putting Veruca's trunk in the case?" The chauffeur nodded, and took the case, not looking at Veruca as he did so.

Aunt Katharine turned to Veruca. "Well," she said. "I suppose this is goodbye."

"Yes," Veruca said stiffly. "It is, isn't it."

Though they had been getting on reasonably well of late, Veruca found that, all of a sudden, she was too shy to say anything. What was there to say? Thank you? I'll miss you? Although she would have meant both statements, it seemed stupid to say them out loud. Too cheesy, too silly. So Veruca merely nodded again.

"I'll write," she said, "or something. Maybe I'll get to see you at Christmas."

Aunt Katharine smiled warmly. "I hope so. Well, you'd better go. You have a fancy car waiting."

Veruca set off down the path, her eyes fixed on the ground. The chauffeur (what was his name? Would it be polite to ask?) was waiting for her on the pavement, holding the door open. Veruca slid into the car, squeaking out a "thank you" and still not looking at the driver. She buckled her seatbelt as the door was closed, and unbuttoned her coat. It was rather too warm.

She only turned her head to look back at her aunt's house when the car was pulling away from the pavement. She saw Aunt Katharine standing there, waving, with Martin standing beside her (he had clearly come to gawp at the shiny car). Veruca smiled, raised a hand and waved back.

Then the car rounded the corner and they were out of sight.

Veruca sighed, and relaxed on her seat. She felt strangely sad, and she didn't know why. Her life with her aunt hadn't exactly been pleasant, and she was returning to the luxury she had grown accustomed to. So why did she feel so... hollow?

Veruca was torn from her reverie by something yellow streaking by the window directly outside her window. She looked, and was astonished to see Dory pedalling furiously alongside the car, in a yellow t-shirt. She was saying something, something Veruca couldn't catch through the roar of the engine and the pane of glass that separated them. Veruca mouthed, "I can't hear you!" Dory focused on the road for a moment. They were nearly at the busy junction, which was bad news if you were a cyclist who didn't happen to be wearing a helmet. Dory turned back to Veruca, and repeated what she had been saying, slowly. And, though Veruca didn't hear her words, she managed to read her lips.

Email me!

"I will!" Veruca replied, out loud this time. "I promise! And I'll see you again!"

Dory braked suddenly, and the car went past the traffic light. Veruca turned round, and saw Dory standing by her bike at the end of the road, growing smaller and smaller, before she was hidden by a stream of traffic.

Veruca turned around to face the front. As she did so, she noticed the chauffeur looking at her in the rear-view mirror. It was not a particularly friendly look. Clearly, he remembered the incident with the £20 note all too well.

Veruca sighed, and leaned her head against the window. It was going to be a long trip.


	24. Sweet Home

The house was colder and greyer than she remembered. Granted, it wasn't a very nice day outside, the sun hidden behind a blanket of grey clouds in the sky.

She had looked out of the window as the car sped its way into the estate. Though autumn was on its way, the trees lining the drive were still green. The gravel crunched under the tyres as the car pulled up in front of the house. An expensive sound. Expensive, but strangle empty.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Combes, had met Veruca in the hallway. No parents. Her father hadn't been home, away on business in Kyoto. Her mother had gone to London that morning, and was expected back later in the day.

"I expect she's buying lots of lovely new things for your arrival home!" Mrs. Combes had said, attempting a warm smile. She often attempted this, and never quite succeeded, her face being altogether too sharp to.

Angina Salt had returned two hours later, as Veruca was eating a bowl of cereal (a particular food she had grown especially fond of during her time away), alone in the dining room.

"Darling!" Angina had exclaimed upon seeing her daughter. She was laden with shopping bags, and one of the maids was struggling with more behind her. "Oh, I didn't expect to see you back so early!"

This was unusual, as it had been her mother who had made the invitation. Still.

"What've you bought?" Veruca asked, standing up somewhat awkwardly. Her mother gave a small shriek.

"For goodness' sake Veruca, what on earth are you wearing?"

Veruca looked down at her pink birthday dress. "This? It's new."

Her mother rolled her eyes. "It's ridiculously tacky, darling. Where on earth is it from, the supermarket?"

"I... don't think so. But even if it is, it was a birthday present. From Aunt –"

Her mother butted in immediately. "Oh yes, your birthday! We're going to have a lovely little birthday supper tonight, darling, just you and me. I've been at Fortnum and Mason, getting some nice things just for that. And your birthday presents, too!"

"Thank you," Veruca said. Her mother looked at her strangely for a second, then smiled again.

"My, aren't we polite! I expect you're tired, darling, after your horrible car journey." Angina smiled, her lips elegantly painted with shiny pink gloss. "Why don't you go upstairs and rest for a bit? Have a bath or something. You can relax – you're home now!"

Veruca's room was the same as it had always been – pink and white, with her four-poster bed and her soft toys, all her books and videos, the neat vanity table, and the glint of a white bathroom behind the open bathroom door. Veruca turned on all the lights, casting a warm pink glow that contrasted pleasantly with the inky blue sky outside the window. Her cat Victoria lay on the bed as usual, her tail flicking slowly from side to side.

"Hello." Veruca sat on the bed and ran her hand over the cat's warm white fur. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Victoria gave a soft prrr, lazily extending one of her paws as though to catch at Veruca. She did not hiss or run away however, as she often did. This was strangely comforting. After a few moments, the cat got up, leapt lightly into Veruca's lap and, after a couple of minutes of rather painful kneading, settled down.

The room seemed strangely quiet. Veruca filled the silence by turning on her television and watching the news. It wasn't particularly cheerful, but it passed the time. It meant she could concentrate on something important on the other side of the world, instead of her own petty little problems. Veruca realised that she was missing her aunt very much. She couldn't put her finger on why, exactly. She had never thought her aunt had been very nice to her. But there the feeling was, inexplicably. Nesting somewhere in her ribs, a physical ache. She missed Dory, too. Dory hadn't been the prettiest, the richest, the most influential or even the most interesting person Veruca had ever met. But she had always seemed absolutely interested in Veruca. Always.

Just like Aunt Katharine, really.

Veruca hugged a pillow to her chest as she thought about her mother. Here she was, back at home. Ready to be lavished with expensive birthday gifts and fine foods. But something about her mother was bugging her. This feeling had started in London, but was growing stronger. She couldn't quite work out what it was. Her mother was paying attention to her. She had bought her birthday presents...

Veruca's materialistic side here kicked in, imagining the gifts she might be receiving. This was fun, but Veruca felt a small nagging in her mind. She knew she mustn't expect too much. She'd already had some lovely presents from her aunt's family, and from Dory.

And where was her father in all this? In Kyoto. She hadn't so much as spoken to him since the events in the Ritz hotel. I hope he's still seething, Veruca thought angrily. While she knew she had acted appallingly, she was unwilling to let go of the blame she had placed on her father. I don't care if I never see him again, Veruca thought. I don't care.

"Darling!" Angina Salt's voice trilled, clear and piercing as a bell, from the dinging room. "Come down for your birthday supper!"

Veruca gently dislodged Victoria from her lap, and switched off the television. There had been a bomb attack in the middle east, rolling news devoted to its coverage.

No bomb here, Veruca thought to herself as she left the room. But maybe there's some unexploded dynamite downstairs.


	25. Contemplating a Dismal Birthday Supper

There were twelve candles on the cake.

Angina Salt had, naturally, been distraught when Veruca had pointed out the mistake. "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry! I could have sworn you were eleven last year! I distinctly remember... no, that can't be right. I'm so sorry!" And she meant it. Of course she did. She wasn't evil. But the mistake had still been made, and remained with them for the rest of the evening. The elephant in the room.

Of course the gifts were lovely. As well as regaining all her clothes and gifts from London, there were other surprises – fragrance and chocolates and a box of fancy tea. And there was so much of it. Veruca became acutely aware that she was actually embarrassed by the vast quantaties of stuff her mother was heaping upon her. It felt indecent somehow. Was she going to throw a tantrum about it? No, that would somehow be worse. So Veruca smiled (albeit emptily) and gracefully accepted everything.

The meal was pleasant enough, with a crème brûlée dessert. The wretched 12-candle birthday cake was consumed over a post-dinner cup of Earl Grey for Veruca, and a Cosmopolitan for her mother. Veruca cut herself a small slice, being sure not to take any excess icing.

"We really ought to have gone out, darling," Angina said, finishing her cocktail. She hadn't even touched her own slice of cake. "I'm sorry. I would have booked a table at the Wolseley, but it was such late notice and –"

"It's fine, Mummy," Veruca interrupted. "Honestly. It's... I suppose it can be nice to celebrate at home. Just sometimes."

Angina blinked.

"For my thirteenth birthday," she said, "my dream was to go to Paris for the weekend. But we couldn't afford it, of course. Not back then. So I had to wait until I married your father. Then I –" she hiccoughed slightly, "I finally spent my birthday weekend in Paris, at the age of twenty-three." She sighed, and put her glass down. "I wanted your thirteenth to be as special as the thirteenth I wanted. I wanted to take you to Paris. But your father said no. He kept saying no. I just wanted to treat you."

Veruca managed a small but genuine smile. "That's nice of you."

"You're not disappointed?" Angina looked ever so slightly bug-eyed. Veruca wondered if she had been drinking before dinner.

"No. Well, I suppose you can't miss what you weren't promised," Veruca said. "Besides, I have been to Paris before, remember?" Veruca remembered being dragged around the Louvre at age eight, screaming because she wanted to go shopping and not look at boring old paintings. Nowadays the recollection made her wince. "I'd like to go again, though," she said. "To... see more maybe. And go shopping." Well, a leopard can never completely change its spots.

Her mother leaned back in her chair slightly, looking at her.

"What is it?" Veruca asked.

"Oh, nothing," Angina said. "You're just very... subdued." She drew her chair away from the table. "I suppose you're just tired."

"I don't feel that tired," Veruca said.

"Hmm." Angina gave a small yawn. "Maybe you're ill."

"I'm not ill. I –"

The faint sound of the phone ringing echoed into the dining room from the lounge. Veruca barely noticed at first, now used to a much smaller house where the sound of a ringing phone could be heard from next door.

"Angela!" her mother roared to Mrs. Combes. "Get the phone!" She turned back to Veruca, still seated and scraping the last vestiges of icing from her delicate china plate. "Darling, I'm not convinced you're well. Maybe you should go to bed and see how you feel in the morning. We can do something nice a little later in the week when you're yourself again. It's a couple of weeks before you need to return to school and you –"

"School?" Veruca blurted out. "I have to go to school?"

Angina looked puzzled. "Of course you have to go to school, darling. In fact, you need to return to school as soon as possible." She snorted. "I expect you've a lot of catching up to do after wasting all that time at that... that zoo of a school you were put in."

Veruca couldn't pretend she had particularly enjoyed being at Blakehead Park. But she knew that "zoo" was a little unfair.

"Oh, mother," she said. "The lessons there were pretty good. And I met Dory."

"Who?"

"Oh... no one." For some reason, Veruca didn't want to tell her mother about Dory. She knew Dory was not the kind of person her mother would take to very well. "But... I was learning. I was doing well in art." She sighed. "We never do art at St. Cecilia's. We just learn about the history of art. That's boring."

Angina stared.

"I think you had better be going to bed, Veruca," she said eventually. "Go on. You're maybe a little overexcited at coming home, and –"

"I'm not!" Veruca protested. "I feel fine!"

Angina opened her mouth to argue further. But just then there was a knock on the dining room door. Veruca and her mother both turned to face the visitor.

It was Mrs. Combes, clutching the phone in one hand and the doorframe with the other. She was white as a sheet.

"What is it, Angela?" Angina asked, moving away from the table. Veruca stayed where she was, staring up at the action.

Mrs. Combes couldn't quite seem to get the words out. "It's... oh, Mrs. Salt, it's..."

"Spit it out," Angina said, though she looked very worried now.

Mrs. Combes swallowed. There were tears forming in her eyes. Veruca gripped the edge of the table.

"It's Mr. Salt, ma'am," Mrs. Combes eventually managed. "He's... oh, come to the phone!"

Even as her mother sprinted from the room, very nearly knocking the housekeeper off her feet, Veruca knew exactly what had happened. She knew even before she heard her mother shriek in anguish. And she knew that, somehow, it had all been her fault.

Veruca laid her head on the table, next to the unfinished birthday cake.


	26. Return to Routine

Chapter 26: Return to Routine

Veruca, the youngest mourner at the funeral, had worn a black velvet dress with a white collar, carried a bouquet of white lilies to be placed on the coffin, and had given a speech. She had broken down halfway through the speech, and had to be led away from the altar. It was funny. She thought she had hated her father. She had even been scared of him towards the end. Then the grief hit her so hard she could barely breathe. Maybe she would always want what she couldn't have.

Money wasn't going to be a problem, she had been told. The nut company would continue to prosper, the fortune was still there. They would have to hire a new company director (her mother knowing nothing about business), but financially they were safe. Nothing would change. Apart from everything.

Veruca knew that life was never going to be the same as it had been before her visit to the factory. Once the shock of the death was over, Veruca's old routine began again. A routine which involved school. More specifically, the school named St. Cecilia's School For Girls. It was time to return.

Veruca arrived on the first day after the October holidays, dressed in the school uniform that looked ridiculous on her now. The moment she arrived, friends crowded around. Veruca had always been one of the richest, and therefore most influential people in school, and as such everyone had always wanted to be her friend.

Her very best friend, Tabitha Parker-Browning, was at the front of the crowd of girls. They hadn't seen each other in months, Veruca realised. She hadn't really thought about Tabitha very much.

"Where have you been?" Tabitha cried, grasping Veruca's hands. "Come and sit down and tell us everything!"

The large gang of girls sat on the front steps of the school, Veruca at the centre.

"What happened in the factory?" Tabitha asked. "There were all these reporters around the school for about a fortnight, wanting to interview you." She wound a strand of long, bright red hair around her finger. "I gave an interview about you."

"You did?"

"Oh, there was a society rag reporter, and my mother always says it's good to get ahead in the game. So I told them all about you and stuff."

"Oh." Veruca wasn't sure how she felt about this. "Well."

"So what happened?" Tabitha pressed, her dark, beady eyes gleaming.

Veruca didn't particularly want to divulge anything. The entire factory episode was something she had wanted to push to the back of her mind since it had happened. So she gave a vague, general view of the trip, toning it down drastically and, of course, obliterating any details about the nut sorting room. It made her feel scared and sad to think about it now.

"Oh." Tabitha yawned. "Sounds, like, really dull."

"Mm."

Some of the other girls were beginning to drift away, having found Veruca's story boring. A few of the girls who had previously been in her "inner sanctum" of friends, so to speak, remained to hear more.

"Sorry about your father, by the way," Tabitha said. Her tone was somewhat detached.

"Well. Thank you."

"What's happening to your money? To your fortune?"

Veruca shot a glare at Tabitha. What a question to ask, about money of all things, when her father had just died. Tabitha stared back blankly, apparently unaware that she had offended Veruca.

"Well, the company will keep going," Veruca said eventually, turning her gaze to her perfectly-polished school shoes. "So..."

"So you won't become, like, poor or anything," Tabitha finished, nodding. "Good. It'd be awful if you had to... to sell your house or go to that awful school permanently or anything."

Veruca looked at Tabitha again, jerking her head up so fast she cricked her neck. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Tabitha looked surprised. She crossed her legs, and smoothed a hand over her bright red long bob cut.

"What do you mean?" Veruca repeated when Tabitha still had not responded.

"Oh... you know. That terrible state school you had to go to," Tabitha said. There was just a hint of a laugh in her tone.

"I didn't say it was terrible," Veruca said. Tabitha laughed again.

"Don't be silly. Those places are awful. Why, I was reading the paper the other day and there was a story about some girl at a state school who –"

"Shut up, Tabitha," Veruca said quietly.

Tabitha blinked at her. "What did you say to me?"

"I – never mind." Veruca decided to drop the matter as she really wasn't in the mood for a fight. She had the whole school day in front of her, after all.

Not just the day. The next five years. For some reason they seemed to stretch out before her like a prison sentence, day after day of school and her mother and Tabitha... and the last few months had distinctly soured that prospect.

Tabitha was frowning at Veruca. "No, I do mind. I think you told me to shut up."

"I'm sorry, then." Veruca played with the leather strap of her school satchel. "If you're so offended."

Tabitha's glare was stony and intense. The other girls sitting with them were shifting slightly. Maybe they were hoping for a fight.

"Why did you tell me to shut up?" Tabitha pressed. Veruca didn't look at her and didn't answer. The correct answer was, of course, because you were behaving like a snob. But Veruca knew Tabitha would not have been happy with this reply. So she continued to play with her bag in silence.

A few seconds passed, then Tabitha said, "Well, if you're going to be such a stuck-up bitch, I haven't really got the time for you."

She stood up, and looked at their other friends for support. As a group, they stood and joined her. Tabitha shot Veruca one more contemptuous glare before walking away, leaving Veruca alone on the steps.

Veruca felt tears filling up her eyes, which she angrily brushed away with her blazer sleeve. Tabitha had turned on her so fast, almost as if she had been looking for an excuse to do so. Maybe she had. Maybe she had never been a real friend. Maybe Veruca didn't have any friends now.

She sat there until the bell went, staring determinedly up at the sky to keep the tears at bay. The worst thing about the time spent at her aunt's, Veruca thought as she made her way inside, was how miserable it had made her. She wasn't satisfied with her old life, and she knew she couldn't go back to the life she had at her aunt's. She even regretted wasting time sulking and moaning and moping. No wonder everyone hated her.

There were tears spilling down onto Veruca's blouse now. She sniffed determinedly. She had to get to class and look as though she hadn't been bothered by Tabitha. She had to.

It became obvious that this wasn't going to work the moment Veruca opened her classroom door. Her form teacher, Miss Bradshaw, was seated behind her desk, and the rest of the girls were settling down at their tables.

Veruca hadn't taken more than two steps into the room when the rest of her class started nudging each other and whispering. Pointing. Tabitha, sitting with the largest group of girls – girls Veruca had used to sit with herself, used to eat lunch with, to whisper malicious secrets about other girls in their year. Tabitha wasn't laughing or sneering, like that girl Dannii had. She was staring at Veruca, coldly and directly.

"Veruca!" Miss Bradshaw said pleasantly. "Nice to see you again."

Miss Bradshaw blurred as a sudden haze of tears took over Veruca's vision. She gasped, and blinked.

"Veruca?" Miss Bradshaw made as if to stand up. "Are you all right?"

Veruca stared at her teacher – then turned on her heel and ran, slamming the classroom door behind her.

She ran down several polished corridors, down the stairs in the entrance hall, and out of the front doors (the doors no one but special guests to the school were meant to use). Down the school drive, towards the gates. Pant, pant. Get away.

She didn't know where she was running. All she knew was that it wasn't home. And that she needed to get away from school, and from everyone she knew.

She could plan from there.


	27. Rust and Wildflowers

Even if she had wanted to walk home, it would have been entirely impractical. The country mansion was miles away, and the chauffeur wasn't due to pick her up until four. So she continued her run into the town, only slowing down when she was well outside the distance pupils of her age were willing to walk.

Veruca had always liked the nearest town. It was small and quaint; old buildings, all cottages, tea rooms and cute little gift shops. Postcard-pretty. Right now she just wanted to be out of there. Somewhere no one would find her.

Veruca found herself wandering to the train station. She knew she was going to get on a train and go somewhere. She didn't know where, exactly, yet.

Not London. She'd been there too much.

Not the town where Aunt Katharine lived. She knew too many people there. She wanted to be somewhere she didn't know anyone at all. Where no one knew her. Somewhere she could be anonymous.

Veruca walked up to the ticket window. The man behind the counter peered at her suspiciously.

"Um," Veruca said. She had never actually bought herself a ticket before, and had no idea how to do it. "Where do the trains go?"

The man stared. He was old, with greying hair and thick eyebrows. Veruca wondered if he recognised her – her face had been all over the papers less than a year ago, after all.

"The next train is for Newcastle," he said, his eyes narrowed. "It leaves in seven minutes."

Veruca breathed out. She had never been to Newcastle; her parents had had a deep-seated dislike of the north of England. Too industrial, her father had always said. Veruca felt like she wanted to be somewhere her father would have absolutely disapproved of. It was like a part of her hated him for dying and wanted to rebel. That part of her was bubbling and simmering like a pan of water, providing the energy necessary to move her limbs, to think, to breathe. She was operating on a wild sense of resentment.

Veruca took a deep breath, and pulled her purse out of her school bag.

"How much?"

It had cost way more than she'd imagined. She'd had a hundred pounds in her purse, and now she barely had forty. Not enough for a return, not enough to stay anywhere when she was there.

The train journey lasted several hours, the longest train journey Veruca had ever been on. She usually flew long distances – they had flown to Edinburgh when they visited three years previously. She searched her school bag for something to read. There was only her copy of Twelfth Night, required for the English class she should have been taking at that very moment. Fat chance. Two stops later, a woman sitting in the seat opposite left her magazine behind. Veruca read it twice, did the wordsearch puzzle, and then sat staring out of the window, watching the countryside fly past.

It was nearly four by the time Veruca arrived in Newcastle. She stepped off the train, brushing down her rumpled school skirt and rubbing her eyes, gritty and sore after several hours of travelling. The station seemed so large and crowded and grubby. Veruca felt small and lost, standing on the platform and clutching her satchel. What to do now? Where to go?

First and foremost, she was hungry. There was a café in the station, a small glass room filled with tables and chairs and warm, glowing light. Veruca decided to have a snack while she weighed up her options.

Veruca found she couldn't bear to think about her situation over a hot chocolate and rocky road muffin. Instead she sat on her own and stared out over the people coming and going on the platform, her mind a total blank. It was as though she simply couldn't bring herself to think about her situation. Her mind wouldn't let her.

She found herself reminiscing about some of the better times she had had recently over the last dregs of the hot chocolate. Hanging around with Dory. That birthday celebration her aunt had thrown. It had just been getting good when she'd had to leave.

I want to go back, she thought. I want to but I can't. My father is dead and my mother will never believe I need to go back. That I need boundaries. That I need people who care.

Veruca realised that a few tears had dripped into her almost empty glass. She wiped her face clumsily with a paper napkin and stood up. She was going on a walk to calm down.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, Veruca was back at the station, having spent the remainder of the day in the nearby museum. She bought a sandwich from the museum café and left as the museum closed for the night.

With no idea as to go next, Veruca found herself wandering back to the station, hoping a solution to her predicament would somehow present itself. A small part of her hoped for a fairytale. A wealthy old woman might appear from nowhere, clad in an ermine cape and encrusted with jewels, and insist on adopting Veruca and taking her to live in unbridled luxury.

No, that fantasy was ridiculous. She'd settle for a well-adjusted family taking her to live with them in their modest home in the suburbs. Or, she thought with a slight sneer at her own snobbery, a loving family living in a tiny shack.

She kicked at an empty crisp packet on the pavement. Some children have all the luck, she thought bitterly, and I'm not one of them.

She wandered around the station for a bit, along the platforms, across the iron bridge that went over the track. The café she had sat in before was closed. The Pumpkin Café was still open, but it didn't look half as inviting. There was no reason to stay here.

So she set off in the opposite direction instead, towards where there might be shops. The sun was getting lower and lower in the sky, bathing the city in gold.

It hit Veruca after about half an hour of walking that she really, truly had nowhere to go. This fear paralysed her for a few moments, making her stop in her tracks. Moments later, she knew the solution to this worry. So she would suffer for a while, sleeping rough. It would teach her mother. It would show her.

Veruca didn't know the first thing about sleeping rough, of course. Sheltered and cosseted as she was, she didn't realise the dangers of being out on her own in a city. In her head, this venture was not much more dangerous than anything Little Orphan Annie had done.

She walked down a large street full of shops (all of which were closed) and turned right into a small side street. Here, among the imposing buildings that looked neither like houses or shops, she found a large, square yard, hidden behind a wooden fence. It was extremely overgrown, filled with tall grass and wildflowers. Judging by the pile of rubble and the rusted remains of some sort of frame in the middle of the wasteland, a building had once stood there, and had now been demolished. A dilapidated FOR SALE sign at the fence confirmed this.

Veruca had hoped for somewhere a little less exposed. But the evening was still balmy enough, and her feet had blisters.

I'll stop here tonight and think some more tomorrow, she though. Even if I don't sleep I need somewhere to rest. Somewhere without other people.

She climbed the fence quite easily. She would stay just here, by the fence, for tonight. She felt safe enough.

Veruca propped herself up in a sitting position against the fence, removing her school blazer and spreading it over her legs for warmth. The ground was dry enough. There was litter, but she didn't care. She just wanted to have somewhere completely silent to be.

I wonder if they're worried about me, she thought. The school. Tabitha. Her mother. I hope so.

How am I going to get home?

Veruca closed her eyes, drinking in the peace of her surroundings. She didn't want to think any more tonight. She just wanted to rest. Just for now.

Veruca wasn't sure when she fell asleep. The night had been uncomfortable, spent sitting upright and in a state between sleeping and consciousness. Waking up however happened very suddenly. It was morning and it was cold and she was covered in dew and her eyes were stuck together with sleep and her mouth tasted horrible and someone had just prodded her with their foot and...

There was someone with her. More than one person.

She had slumped over sideways in her sleep. Blinking, she tried to recognise the three figures around her. Three boys, several years older than her. Dressed casually. Two wearing hood. One kneeling, two standing. One of them was holding her satchel. She didn't recognise them. Where was she again and why?

Then it all came rushing back and she sat bolt upright. "Oh!"

The one holding her satchel stayed silent while the other two laughed.

"That's mine!" Veruca protested, trying to stand up. Her legs were numb. "Give it back!"

More laughing.

"Give it back!" shrieked one of the boys, in a cruel imitation of Veruca. He swore at her. The boy with the satchel was opening it, throwing its contents onto the ground. Her textbooks, jotters. He went through her pencil case, deemed its contents worthless, and scattered them all over the ground too.

"Stop it!" Veruca said. She didn't care if they mocked her. She just wanted them gone.

She tried to grab at him, but one of the other boys pushed her back. She fell to the ground with a shriek.

Her satchel was searched completely and nothing of value found. The boy doing the searching – the one with the scarf over his face – turned it upside down, shook it, then dropped it.

"Try her jacket," one of the boys muttered, scratching his nose.

"No!" Veruca said. Her purse and her mobile phone were in its pockets. She tried to snatch the blazer away from her legs but was too slow. The boy with the scarf seized it, and one of the others pinned Veruca against the fence. She kicked her legs, but to no avail.

The other two were muttering to each other as they found the valuables in her pockets. She couldn't hear what they were saying. She felt like she was drowning in the itchy fabric of the third boy's jumper, and the stench of sweat mingling with some cheap brand of body spray.

"Stop it," she tried again, but weakly this time. She knew they were going to run away now, taking her last chance of getting help with them.

But they weren't running away. They had her stuff. Why weren't they running away?

Then, over the sleeve of her captor, Veruca saw the flash of a knife blade in the hand of the boy with the scarf. Her eyes widened.

Help!


	28. Rescue

Survivors of near-death experiences have reported that, at the moment when death seems closest, the brain alters one's perspective of reality. Veruca understood exactly what this meant as she stared at the knife blade, mere inches from her face. For a few moments, the world went black and white. It was just her and the knife. For those few moments, she took it for granted that she wasn't going to survive.

The blade moved in slow motion as she felt a gasp leave her lungs. She was still being pinned down, prevented from moving.

What were her options? Scream, and hope someone heard her? Start crying and begging them to let her go? They had her things, what more could they want from her?

Then Veruca realised what she was going to do. Fight and flee.

The world burst back into colour as, with a sudden rush of adrenaline, Veruca wrenched her arms out of the grip of her captors. Taken aback by her sudden movement, they were too slow to react as she elbowed both of them as hard as she could, catching one in the face and the other in the stomach. They fell away.

The boy with the knife swore and moved forward. Veruca leapt to her feet and kicked him in the shins, with all the strength she could muster.

That was the fighting. With absolutely no experience in self-defence, Veruca knew she could not fight any more. Having used up the advantage of surprise, the only thing to do now was to get to the fleeing part.

Veruca threw herself over the fence as fast as she could manage. Her skirt caught on the top of the fence, throwing her off balance and causing her to tumble head-first onto the hard ground below. Stars exploded in front of her vision as she hit the ground and rolled over into an upright sitting position. Her head hurt so much. But she had to run. Had to get to her feet and go.

She did so, feeling sick and dizzy at the same time. She was running down that side street towards the larger street with all the shops, as fast as she could stand. Which really wasn't very fast at all. She felt so sick. Ill-feelings. Got to keep running.

She looked over her shoulder, and saw the boy with the scarf on her trail. He was shouting something at her. Roaring.

Veruca screamed, and sped up. Her vision blurred into a collection of concrete and people as she sped into the shopping street.

"Help!" she shrieked, not slowing down. "Someone help!"

She kept on running down the street, not sure where she was going exactly, but safe in the knowledge that she was not going to allow herself to be stabbed. Someone would help her. Someone had to help her.

Her lungs were splitting with pain and she couldn't breathe and she couldn't stop running. She rounded a corner and kept on going, narrowly avoiding running straight into a mum pushing a stroller. Some people were turning to look at her in curiosity.

Was the boy still following her? Veruca turned and looked over her shoulder, not slowing down. She couldn't see him... maybe she had lost him in the crowd...

Then she ran straight into someone, and fell back onto the ground, hitting her head for the second time in as many minutes. This time, she stayed down.

Veruca came to a few minutes later, groggy and hazy. What had happened? It took her a few moments to remember.

She was lying on her back on the street, staring up into a grey sky. Damp drizzle fell onto her from above as she lay there. And again, she wasn't alone. A small crowd had gathered around her, peering down, curious and concerned.

"She's come round," said someone standing at her head. A woman.

"Veruca?" A second voice, familiar. A boy. "Can you hear me?"

"Hmm?" Veruca mumbled.

"She's conscious," the woman's voice said.

Veruca tipped her head back, trying to get a look at the boy who had known her name. Even from upside-down she recognised him. It was George, from school, with an older woman who had to be his mother.

"You okay?" George asked. He looked genuinely worried.

"Ah," Veruca said. "Yes."

Then she passed out again.


	29. Safety

Veruca came round round minutes later, but her perception of events remained hazy and unfocused for several hours. People around her, being driven somewhere, lights, someone talking to her. Perhaps it was her tiredness, or her hunger, or the blow she had taken to the head. Either way, she was surprised upon finally regaining full consciousness to find herself lying down in a brightly-lit room. A hospital room. There was a woman in a blue overall doing something on her bedside table.

"Oh," Veruca murmured. "Where am I?"

The woman turned to look at her. "Oh, you're awake," she said. Her face was lined, her hair greying, but her eyes were kind.

"Where...?"

"Hospital, sweetheart. You passed out in the middle of town."

Veruca groaned.

"It's okay, you're just concussed. You're going to be fine."

"I'm so tired," Veruca whispered.

"What's your name, darling?" The nurse had her hand on Veruca's forehead. It was refreshingly cool and calming.

"Veruca Salt."

"Oh," the nurse said. "As in the little girl who won the ticket?"

"Yes."

The nurse didn't ask any more about that incident. "How old are you, Veruca?"

"Twe– I'm thirteen."

"Okay. Your friend, the one who found you –"

"My friend?"

"Yes, your friend George."

Veruca frowned at the nurse, then remembered. "Oh. Is... is he here right now?"

"No, him and his family left a short while ago. They managed to contact your aunt, though."

"My aunt?"

"Yes, they said you'd come a long way. They said they live in Essex. You're a long way from home, Veruca."

Veruca didn't say anything. She tried to raise her head, but it hurt too much. She realised she was lying on a bare mattress without a blanket. This was clearly a short-term visit.

"You can tell me if there's anything upsetting you, sweetheart," the nurse said gently.

"I don't have to tell you anything," Veruca said, her eyes snapping straight ahead to focus on the ugly polystyrene ceiling. "But... how do you know anyway?"

"Well, it looks like you were sleeping rough last night. In a posh school uniform." The nurse sat on the end of the bare bed. Her face was nothing but sympathy. "You don't have to tell me anything, darling. Just if you need to talk."

To her surprise, there were tears forming in Veruca's eyes. She tried to blink them away, and they trickled out of her eyes and onto the coverless hospital pillow.

"Just while I'm waiting for my aunt to come," she whispered.

It was dark outside. Veruca lay across the back seats of Aunt Katharine's car, knees drawn up to her chest, and watching orange streetlights flash past on the motorway outside. She had been discharged fairly quickly after her aunt had arrived as there had been nothing much physically wrong with her. A bruise on her head, a graze or two. But the kind nurse had told her aunt that Veruca really needed someone right now. Someone who really cared for her.

"I'll take her home," Aunt Katharine had said. "Her mother will be waiting."

In the car, once Veruca had been settled down, they had started driving immediately. Neither of them said a word until it was time to stop for lunch at a service station café.

"So," Aunt Katharine said. "How are you feeling now?"

"I don't want to go home," Veruca said in a very small voice, picking at the paper casing her lemon muffin had arrived in.

"Why's that?"

"I don't... it's Mummy. I just can't..." Veruca pursed her mouth. "Everything is spoiled now. I can't get used to it again. Living at your house, it... well, it means I can't just go back to how I used to live. I can't. And Mummy doesn't understand that."

Aunt Katharine sighed, and stared out of the grimy window at the view of the motorway. She looked very tired all of a sudden. "I know. I know it isn't going to be easy. But you couldn't carry on the way you were living, Veruca. It wasn't right. I knew it wasn't going to be easy for you. But you've done so well." She squeezed Veruca's hand and gave her a small smile.

"Why are you so nice to me?" Veruca said. "No one else is."

"Dory is."

"She is." Veruca paused a moment, thinking about her only friend. "But I mean... even my own mother doesn't seem to like me."

"Veruca," Aunt Katharine said. "I was the first person your mother called when she heard you were missing. I have never heard someone so hysterical with worry. She was up all night, you know."

"Yeah," Veruca said bitterly, "because she was worried the press would think she was a bad parent, or something like –"

"Veruca," Aunt Katharine said sharply. "That is a horrible thing to say. Your mother loves you very much. I know you might feel that isn't true. But the thing is, she was coddled and spoiled, just like you. Not from as young an age as you were. That's why she cares about you so much. She just finds it difficult to express herself sometimes. But she loves you. Honestly and truly. She's my sister and know she does. As a parent, I know how she feels. You love your children so much, you would do anything – and I mean, anything – to protect them and make sure they are safe. It's unconditional love. I know some parents don't feel it, but your mother is not one of them. And, with any luck, she'll start to realise how much you need her."

There was a silence.

"Sorry I said she was selfish," Veruca muttered. Her aunt waved a hand.

"Of course you think she's selfish. But she isn't. Not where it matters." She smiled again. "I'm not trying to lecture you. But you need to know that."

Veruca realised she was crying again. It was all she seemed to do lately. Aunt Katharine got up, came round to the other side of the table and gave her a hug. Veruca accepted it gratefully, wrapping her arms around her aunt.

"I don't want Mummy to be lonely," she whispered, "now Daddy's dead. And I don't want her to feel I don't love her. But... I still don't want to go back."

Aunt Katharine released Veruca. "Don't you like your house or something?"

"I love my house! I..." The spark that had ignited Veruca's Newcastle adventure bubbled to the surface of her mind. "School. I don't want to go to school. Ever."

"You've got to go to school, Veruca."

"I mean, my old school. St. Cecilia's. Everyone there hates me. Or, if they don't, they will now." Veruca rubbed a tear from her eye with one dirty sleeve. "I don't think I could stand them either, now. They're snobs. They think they're better than everyone else just because they have money. I can't stand that. Not any more."

Aunt Katharine looked thoughtful. "I'm sure you can transfer if you really want, Veruca. There must be other schools nearby."

"I wish Dory was at my school."

"You can't possibly go to Blakehead Park, it's too far away."

"I know. But..." Veruca sighed. "Never mind. I'm going to the loo."

Aunt Katharine nodded. "Okay. I'll see you in the car."

OoOoOoO

Now they were turning off the motorway, into the countryside. They were almost home. Veruca didn't particularly want to see her mother right this second. She didn't want to be fussed over. She squeezed her eyes shut, as though this would delay the inevitable reunion.

"Here we are," Aunt Katharine said as she pulled into the top of the drive. "You awake?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You feel okay to walk? How's your head?"

"Fine." Veruca sat up. All the lights in the manor were on. She opened the door and swung her legs out, standing upright on the gravel. The night breeze was cold on her skin, and she shivered in her thin cotton blouse. The bag and the blazer were long lost in that yard in Newcastle.

The front door flew open as Aunt Katharine got out of the car. Angina Salt came hurtling down the front steps. She was wearing her Angelika Paschbeck sweatsuit, which was downright sloppy for her standards.

"Veruca!" she shrieked. "Veruca!"

The next thing she knew, Veruca was being hugged very thoroughly by her mother. Angina didn't even smell like she normally did – Chanel No. 19 with just a hint of cigarette smoke. Clearly, this was serious business. Then Veruca realised her mother was sobbing.

"Mummy," Veruca murmured, hugging her mother back. Properly. "Don't cry. I'm fine."

"It's my fault," Angina sobbed. "All my fault."

"No, it isn't. It's my fault."

They stood like that for several long moments, illuminated by the yellow light from the windows. Veruca noticed Mrs Combes standing on the front steps, apparently unsure as to whether she should come down.

"It's late," Aunt Katharine finally said quietly. "Why don't we go inside and have something hot to drink? Angina," she added as Veruca and her mother broke apart, "you and I need to have a little chat."

"Oh," Angina sniffed. "Of course. Please... Katharine, you'll be staying the night, won't you? You can't possibly drive back now."

Aunt Katharine nodded. "Ollie's staying with his grandparents and Martin's at a concert. They'll be fine."

Angina stiffened. "His grandparents?"

"On his father's side. How could it be our parents? Our parents are dead."

This was strange for some reason. Veruca could hardly believe that the two women standing in front of her were sisters.

"Come on," Aunt Katharine said eventually, "I'd love some tea."

Mrs. Combes flapped about uselessly as they reached the front door. "Oh, Veruca, dear, are you all right? You look half-frozen."

"I'm fine," Veruca said. "I just want to go to bed. Now."

"Nope," Aunt Katharine said, "you're coming for a chat too, Veruca. You and your mother have a few things you need to go over as soon as possible. Namely, Angina, concerning Veruca's future."

Angina blinked.

Aunt Katharine smiled. "You two go to the drawing room. I'll put the kettle on."


	30. One More Sleep 'Til Christmas

It had just turned light when Veruca woke up, tousle-haired and bleary-eyed, on the twenty-fourth of December. She rolled over, enveloped in pink floral bedsheets. Now facing the window, she noticed that she had accidentally left the curtains open last night.

"Oh!"

She threw the covers back, disturbing a snoozing Victoria, and scrambled out of bed. Running over to the window, she tugged at the latch and flung it open. A mound of fresh snow sprinkled off the window ledge onto the driveway below. At last, snow!

"Veruca!" There was a crash as Veruca's bedroom door flew open and Dory came flying in, an overexcited blur in yellow pyjamas with yellow daisies on them. "It's snowed!"

"I know!" Veruca cried. Dory joined her at the window, and they spent a contemplative moment staring out at the early morning indigo sky.

"Do you think the pond will have frozen over?" Veruca said, resting her chin on her hand.

"Maybe. It wasn't yesterday. Then again, it seems to have become so much colder overnight. Oh, I hope it stays cold so the snow lasts! It's pretty deep, I can't see why it won't."

Dory continued chattering. Veruca tuned out slightly, a smile on her lips. It was wonderful to have her best friend to stay for Christmas. One of the first things she had done after arriving home was call Dory. This turned into a daily habit, and as such by the time December had arrived, it only seemed natural to have her to stay over the holidays. But Christmas was a time for family. So of course Dory's family came to stay too. It wasn't like there wasn't enough room at Veruca's house, and now family was rather thin on the ground.

Aunt Katharine was here too, of course, Martin and Ollie in tow. It only seemed natural after all she'd done for Veruca. Angina hadn't been too keen. She didn't get on all too well with her sister. The Little Talk they had had once Veruca had been brought home had been... uncomfortable, to say the least. It had mostly involved Aunt Katharine talking about Veruca's future in this household, Angina objecting and/or crying, and Veruca staring at the table in silence.

But the result of The Little Talk had undoubtedly been good. Veruca had started at a new school; the only other school nearby, Ashfield Crescent High School. Of course it hadn't been easy at first. There were always bitchy gangs of girls like Dannii and her friends, and of course everyone had enquired about the Golden Ticket incident. But now she had settled in somewhat, she had a nice little group of friends, a mix of boys and girls, all of whom seemed to genuinely like her. But Dory was her best friend. Nothing would change that.

And she could never forget about Violet either. She had received an email the evening before, brief but excited:

Hey Veruca! How are you doing?:)

My run in the West End is over, but you'll never guess what! I'm performing on Broadway after the New Year! I auditioned for 'Annie', and I got the lead! (Though they rotate the parts because kids can't work full-time, so I share the role with two other girls. They're really nice, rehearsals are a blast!) If you're in New York some time, you should totally stop by and see me! It'd be great to hang out again. I'm gonna audition for a movie two, my mom got sent a script (she's kinda my agent haha... I make sure she doesn't work me too hard though!). Audition's on the 27th, fingers crossed huh?

Write me back ASAP and tell me all about how you've been!

Love, Violet xxxxxxx

p.s. click the link! Thought you might be interested. x

Attached had been a link to some news website. Veruca had clicked it, curious. The article that opened up had made her blink in surprise – then smile.

WONKA COMPANY ANNOUNCES FACTORY TO OPEN FOR TOURS

The factory, it seemed, was going to open up its doors permanently, for anyone to visit at any time. It was not a long article, but it did include an interesting quote:

Mr. Willy Wonka, CEO of the company, was unavailable for comment, but his apprentice, Charlie Bucket, has stated: "This was a natural decision for us. The factory has done so much for me and for my family – and I believe it has done so much for the others who visited it with me, too. We want to spread that good to as many families as possible."

Veruca found herself smiling as she had never done before. He was right, really. It hadn't been easy and she may have hated it at times, but... where would she be if that trip hadn't happened? Where would Violet be? She wondered briefly about Mike and Augustus. Maybe she should try and contact them and find out. Hopefully life was going well for them, too.

"Let's go sledging," Veruca said to Dory. Dory looked at her.

"Right now? Before breakfast?"

"Sure!" Veruca closed the window. "We can have porridge when we get back. And hot chocolate, the one with caramel in it."

Dory grinned. "Sounds good! I'll go and put my thermals on."

Just then there was a buzz. Dory started, and pulled her phone out of her pyjama pocket.

"Do you always keep your phone in your pyjamas?" Veruca asked.

"Yeah! Well, not when I'm not wearing them. But what if I get a text in the night?"

"Who's it from?" Veruca asked as Dory checked her phone.

"It's George," Dory said. She read her text, smiled, then snapped her phone shut.

"George? What on earth does he want at 6am on Christmas Eve?"

"Oh...nothing," Dory said airily. Her relative silence spoke volumes. Veruca raised her eyebrows and smirked.

"Oh, shut up," Dory said, swatting at Veruca's shoulder.

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it!"

Veruca knew Dory had hung out with George at school now Veruca had left. That was pretty much all Dory had told her. But Veruca could fill in the gaps.

"He likes claymation," Dory told her. "That's a very unusual quality in a person! Once you find that, Veruca, you've got to hold on to it."

"Of course," Veruca said with a smile. "Whatever. But enough about him; let's go sledging!"

They pulled coats and woollens on over their night things and went out in the snow, just like that. It was still barely light, but this only added to the wonder of the scene. Snow everywhere like icing sugar, just waiting for someone to dive into it. It was perfect. Maybe this would be her very first perfect Christmas.

"Do you think you'll get what you asked for this Christmas?" Dory asked as they dragged their sledges to the top of the hill. From here, you could see the whole estate. It was really quite beautiful. The sun, a low bronze disc, was just visible over the forest in the distance.

"I... I don't know," Veruca said. For the first time, she meant it. She laid her sledge on the ground, and smiled at her best friend. "I'll just have to wait and see."


End file.
